All In
by Joker is Poker with a J
Summary: 7 years after the strike. Racetrack has been lucky in cards but unlucky in love. Fortunately for him, a gang, a trip to Chicago, and a few old friends are about to turn the odds in his favor. First in the Benjamin Hotel Series.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

_"Aces are larger than life and greater than mountains." (Mike Caro)_

**Gramercy Park, Manhattan 1903**

Racetrack Higgins grunted as he hauled the dead weight of his unconscious best friend up the front steps of an enormous house. "Deah me, ya a heavy sonovabitch." Race growled out, finally managing to get Scott Renwick to his front door. Scott groaned as he hit the ground and Race bent over, hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath. Though Scott looked thin and wiry, he was damn heavy when out cold; it didn't help that Race was a bit inebriated himself.

Using his sleeve to wipe the sweat from his forehead, Race leaned over to search through Scott's pockets for the key to his house. "When did I sign on ta be the babysittah of some punk-ass rich boy?" He muttered irritably with the slightest touch of affection as his fingers closed around the cool silver of the key and he brought it out with a flourish. "Beautiful." He said quietly and obviously to himself as the only other person to hear was insensible from the number of drinks he'd had.

Fumbling in the dark, Race cursed a few times before finally finding the key hole and easily opening the front door to the shadowy, silent mansion. He sincerely believed there was such a thing as _too_ big as he kicked the door open and began to drag his friend over the doorstep. The front lobby alone was the size of his apartment but it was the quietness of the house that sent shivers up his spine. He was beginning to get freaked out from it as he pulled Scott all the way through the door.

He waited for his eyes to adjust to the dark and when they had, he could just make out a grand staircase in front of him, "Well, kid. I'm afraid ya on ya own." He whispered down at the still form. Of course, it would be wrong for him to just leave his friend in the middle of the foyer where his parents would find him in the morning…but, there was no way he was dragging Scott up those stairs half-sloshed.

Before he could leave, a figure in white appeared in front of him quick as lightning and he felt the tip of a knife pressed to his throat through the rather foggy, buzzed state of his mind. He groaned, "Just what I need." Pausing, he squinted at the person in front of him, unable to make out any facial features as he muttered, "Hey, I ain't got two nickels ta rub tagethah. Rob the house, not the guy standin' in the doorway."

A small gasp had the person press the knife a little harder and he winced as the voice broke the silence of the house, "How dare you!" She whispered fiercely, for it was in fact a female, "Come into my home and accuse _me_ of robbing you when it is obvious you've attacked my brother here _and_ plan to rob us."

Surprised, he stared down at the petite figure in front of him. Granted, he wasn't the tallest by any means but this girl was _tiny_, "Rob ya?" He asked, stupidly. He'd only had a few more than Scott tonight but at least he could hold his, "Why would I rob ya brothah and then bring him home?"

A pause, "To then rob the house, of course!" She exclaimed, rather triumphantly.

He wanted to chuckle, but feared for his throat, "Why would I tell someone _else_ ta rob ya if I planned ta do the job myself?"

The girl was quiet again, thinking over what he had said as he silently patted himself on the back. Even flagged as he was, he could still outwit anyone, "Well," She began before sudden inspiration struck, "I'm not a robber so I don't plan to rob my own house therefore you obviously were thinking about it."

Racetrack slowly raised his hands in defense, "Aha, but I wasn't plannin' on robbin' ya, sweetheaht."

"Then why, pray tell, are you in my house?" Through the dark, he could just make out the curve of her neck as she tossed her hair back arrogantly.

He rolled his eyes, "Because, dollface, I just practically carried ya brother from the Bronx ta get him home like he asked, I'm not about ta rob his house. Be kinda obvious to him who did when he wakes up, now wouldn't it? Now, if ya don't mind I'd like ta get back ta my apartment so I can catch some of my own sleep."

Slowly, she lowered the knife and took a step forward to peer up in his face, "Why, I actually _believe_ you." She said, sounding incredulous.

At her step forward, her features that were only a hazy outline before came into sharp focus and Race felt his mouth drop open slightly. She was stunning, her long hair hanging down her back in untidy curls was a color akin to brown, perhaps, but with the lack of any real light he couldn't tell exactly _what_ color. The same for her eyes, except he could tell that they were a light color, a nice contrast to her hair. Her nose was tiny, her mouth wide and full and as she looked at him in the dark he murmured, without thought, "Well, _I_ can't believe anyone would give _you_ a knife."

Perhaps it was the liquor impairing his judgment or the look of sudden anger that dawned on her face at his words but whatever it was it made him dip his head down to capture her lips before she could speak. As easy as breathing, he rested his hands on her hips and pulled her closer, thoroughly enjoying her soft lips against his own.

What surprised him most was that instead of giving him a swift kick to the groin like most women would have, she actually slipped her arms around his neck and began to kiss him back as the sound of the knife's clatter to the marble floor whispered in the background. He groaned against her lips, pulling her tighter so that her body, only clothed in a thin nightgown and wrap, was practically melded against his own. Her soft lips moved against his and she tasted sweetly of lavender with just the smallest hint of warm vanilla. As her body pressed against his he had the sudden urge to just lay her down in the middle of the floor here and ravish her.

Before he could make good on his thoughts, a snort followed by a groan startled the two of them so much so that they sprang apart as if a fire had been set between them.

Scott shifted in his sleep but otherwise continued to dream, soft snores beginning to echo around the entrance hall as Race looked over at the girl in front of him. Dawning horror began to creep over him as his buzz began to fade and he realized he'd just had a passionate kiss with none other than Scott's own twin sister, Clara Renwick.

Not only was she his best friend's sister, she also happened to be engaged.

He stood there a moment longer, wondering if there was anything he could say that would make this less awkward. When nothing came to mind, he tossed Scott's key onto his friend's back and beat it out of the house faster than you could say, 'poker.'

**A/N: And so, it begins. Review!**

**Truly,**

**Joker is Poker with a J~**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize. Everything you DO recognize belong to their respective owners. **


	2. Chapter One

_**Chapter 1**_

_"Cards are war, in disguise of a sport." (Charles Lamb)_

**Midtown East, Manhattan 1906**

Scott Renwick was in a bit of trouble. Not only had he played poker with the wrong people, he'd cheated and had nearly gotten caught.

He mentally berated himself as he hurried along the dark, silent streets of Manhattan. It was nearly three in the morning but he knew where his friend would be. Just two more blocks before he'd get there. The urgency to see Racetrack Higgins, his best friend and mentor of nearly five years, struck a strong chord within him.

Those two blocks, though, seemed to be shrouded in darkness; as if the man who was supposed to light them had decided to go home instead. Scott briefly thought he wouldn't blame the guy as he shivered and pulled his coat closer. The New Year had rung in mightily cold and summer seemed a million miles away.

He blew a breath of hot air into his hands, the buzz he'd had from drinking was fading and he wished most dearly for a hot bath and his warm bed. Too bad that would have to wait. Even though he knew word for word what Race would say when Scott re-told the story, he had to see him. A small smile pulled up the corners of his mouth when he thought of Race's frustration, his heavily accented voice reprimanding him.

"No doubt," Race would drawl, a cigar in his mouth although he knew Race's boss would never let him smoke inside the hotel, "this'll just be a learnin' experience. Smart or dead, kid. Smart or dead. Let's just say I'd like ta see ya among the livin' foah quite a few years."

He quickened his pace, one block down one to go, he thought silently as an image of the grimy, leering face of William 'Barkers' Bailey was brought to the forefront of his mind. He shuddered as he thought of the long, revolting scars that marred the man's features, although they did not make him uglier by very much. That thought brought another quick grin to his face only a few yards from the illustrious Benjamin Hotel in which he knew his friend stood.

The grin fell almost at once as two towering figures stepped out of the alley before the hotel, looking angry and he knew at once they were there to do him harm. He'd thought he'd left the place without being followed, but he had assumed wrong and this assumption just might cause him his life.

A ripple of fear trailed down his spine…

Racetrack Higgins looked up from where he was balancing the front desk ledger, a job that David had taken some coaxing to give him, sure he'd heard a noise. He glanced at the wall clock, 3:36 a.m. Scott had mentioned stopping by, as he so often did on Saturday nights after he played poker with some men down at a bar in the Bronx, to show Race what he'd won. Or in cases in which he didn't stop by, Race would find him the next day in bed wallowing in self-pity that he'd lost a substantial amount of money.

The Italian man shook his head and moved from behind the desk. Scott was only a year younger age-wise but in street smarts he was like a toddler. He was lucky Race had taken a liking to him five years ago when they had met at a poker game in Queens or else the kid would have found himself beaten or worse a long time ago; which wasn't good for the kid, considering he had a family that would mourn him.

No one thought the relationship they had was odder than Race himself. Scott Renwick was the son of a ruthless businessman, Sean Renwick, who had a lot of investments and owned quite a few Steel plants. Of course, with the exception of Mr. Renwick, the rest of the Renwick's were a bit off kilter from the ordinary upper class families Race had seen come through the hotel. Not only was Mrs. Renwick wealthy in her own right she was also eccentric, the rich's nice way of saying crazy, and she had silly notions of true love that, from what he'd heard from Scott, were passed to her youngest daughter, Diana.

Racetrack chuckled at the thought of Scott's little sister who was barely fourteen, as he recalled the mistletoe she had tried to catch him under. It was common knowledge that the baby Renwick had a long standing infatuation with him. Moving to the front doors, Race peered out into the cold, silent night still half wondering about the noise he'd heard.

A whistle from a few blocks away had him turning his head to see two large men come running out of the alley beside the hotel and he knew that they were guilty about something. When they had been swallowed up by the night, he stepped out of the safety of the building and turned to head down the sidewalk where he made a right into the alley.

He moved closer to the dark silhouette on the ground, letting his eyes get accustom before he reached out and rolled the person over.

Racetrack Higgins cursed. "What'd ya get yourself inta this time, Ren?" He asked, using his nickname for the kid.

Scott groaned, barely able to open his left eye because it was so swollen, "Cheat..ed." The Irish boy mumbled, wincing as Race took his arm and began to lift him off the cold ground.

"Lemme guess, ya got caught and ya didn't think they'd follah ya?" He shook his head, wondering when Scott was going to learn. You were either smart or dead and the way he was going it would be the latter.

"Didn't…get-" He cut himself off to cough as Race hauled him into the lobby of the hotel, "caught." He finished, using his free arm to wipe his mouth which in turn smeared blood along his sleeve. "Damn."

Race rolled his eyes and moved him so he could sit in the chair behind the front desk, "That's the least of ya troubles." Ignoring the groans of his friend, he lifted the telephone from its cradle and told the operator who to connect him to.

"Hello?" Was David's groggy answer.

Glancing back at Scott, Race lowered his voice slightly, "'Ey, Davey, its Race. I have…um, a little situation down here."

"What is it?" David's voice was more alert and it sounded as if he was already getting ready to come down here.

Race felt a stab of guilt for bothering his old friend at such a late hour especially because he knew David had become something akin to a workaholic in the last five years since he opened his hotel. He also recalled that David had left the hotel barely four hours ago, so with a heavy heart he told him, "It's Scott, I found him beaten in the alley beside the hotel. He's not lookin' so good and I can't leave the front desk."

A sigh, "I'll be there soon." Click.

Setting down the phone, Race went to the hall that led to the office and the employee's restroom. He grabbed the small first aid kit and then rejoined Scott. He tossed the first aid kit into Scott's lap, "Ya screwed up, kid." He told him, "What's ya mothah gonna think when I bring ya home like this?"

Scott managed a lopsided smile as he fumbled with the box, "What she thinks every time you bring me home; that I'm lucky ya like me."

The Italian snorted, "Ya twins gonna give me hell."

He winced at that, as if he could already hear Clara's voice reprimanding him, "Awe, Race, she gives everyone hell. She's just a bitter shrew."

Which, Race mused silently as he watched Scott start to wipe the blood off his face, wasn't _wrong_ but it wasn't nice to say, either. Clara Renwick had changed a lot since that first meeting of theirs three years ago. Those two years prior Race and Scott had kept their friendship away from home and work, only meeting at poker games in shady bars where they complained about the lot handed to them, not that Scott had a whole lot to complain about. But since that night he'd carried Scott home, he had been deemed his best friend and had been, in turn, introduced to his entire family; never remembering that Race had had a passionate kiss with his sister while he lay unconscious on the floor.

Remembering the feel of her warm, soft body against his own, he gently poked a bruise on Scott's cheek, "I'll give ya hell if ya call her a bitter shrew again."

Scowling, Scott continued on silently as he cleaned himself up. If Race had been a little longer on the uptake and had that whistle not been blown blocks away, those guys could have done a lot more damage.

The front door opened and Race glanced up to see David. David Jacobs had changed a lot in the last seven years. A year after the strike, David had finished his schooling and had turned to business. After successfully getting a loan from a bank, he opened up the Benjamin Hotel. Somewhere between those events, he and Jack had gotten into a fight over Sarah and things had turned ugly. Jack left for Santa Fe, Sarah married someone else, and David became bitter. Luckily, not so bitter that he couldn't help out a few of his newsboy friend and soon he had hired Blink, Mush, and Racetrack.

All three had started out as front desk clerks, but when the Benjamin Hotel became quite popular to the upper class David had expanded and added a small restaurant. Blink was promoted to Restaurant Manager because he could deal with the chefs, whereas Mush was promoted to Front Desk Manager. Race agreed with David's choice because Mush had a way with people and could fix any given situation.

"Hey, Race." David said, running a hand through his brown hair, "I'm here. Go on and get him home."

Racetrack clapped David on the back, "Sorry about this, Davey. I'll be back as soon as I can and I'll make up the time I miss."

"Take care, Scott." He murmured to the young man before walking down the hall to the office.

Scott nodded to David's back and turned to Race, "I could have gotten myself home."

Rolling his eyes, Race grabbed his jacket and pulled Scott's arm around his shoulder to hoist him up out of the chair, "Look what happened when ya were getting' yaself here." He told him and they made their way out of the hotel, into the frigid air in the direction of Gramercy Park. Racetrack glanced around a block or so from the hotel, feeling as if there were holes being burned into his back. "Who were ya playin' pokah with anyway, Ren?" His friend exhaled, gritting his teeth against the pain he was in. Race briefly wondered if a rib or two was broken but figured the Renwick's would call in a family doctor so there wasn't too much he could do about it at the moment.

"Barkers." Was the reply.

Cursing for the umpteenth time that night, Race tried to hurry them forward, "Have I taught ya nothin'? Barker's is the worst person ta play against, let alone cheat around."

Scott glared at Race for pushing him, "What's the problem?"

He'd never met anyone more unwittingly determined to die, "Barker's insane. I guess he thinks ya cheated, he's thinking he deserves all ya winnings. Those guys who cornahed you, they were just a warnin'. You now owe him all ya winnings and anythin' else he feels he's owed."

By this time, they had made it to his home. For a moment, Race was transported back to that night three years ago when he'd brought Scott here in a similar manor. For some reason, he never could get that kiss out of his head. He'd been around her numerous times since then but neither of them had ever mentioned it. He wasn't completely sure she even remembered or cared that he'd kissed her, considering the events that happened to her not too long after that night.

Sighing inwardly, they moved up the front steps but before Scott could get out his key the front door opened to allow a stream of light to spill across them and light the achingly familiar figure in front of them.

"Uh, hey sis." Scott murmured a sheepish look on his face.

**A/N: The Benjamin Hotel is a real hotel in NYC except it didn't open until the 1920s. For the purpose of my story, we'll just say this is a different hotel with the same name, haha. Anyway, leave me a review letting me know how you liked this chapter. Especially, how David came off because I don't have a whole lot of experience writing his character (although them being much older from the movie, it's almost like writing someone else).  
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**Truly,**

**Joker is Poker with a J~**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize. Everything you DO recognize belong to their respective owners. **


	3. Chapter Two

**Chapter 2**

_"Luck never gives; it only lends." (Swedish Proverb)_

Clara found herself startled awake at three thirty in the morning, a cool sweat on her forehead as she sat up and looked around. It was silent except for the soft ticking of the small clock on her nightstand. She couldn't remember if it was a dream that had waken her or perhaps a noise from the street below her window but either way she found herself wide awake.

For a few minutes she lay there, trying futilely to fall back to sleep before giving up and grabbing her robe. Wrapping it around her body, she left her room to move down the dark hallway to the door at the end. Slowly, she turned the knob and let herself into the room but it took her only a second to realize it was empty. Her brother was not yet home.

A chill ran down her spine causing her stomach to knot in anxiety. Call it a twin bond, or call her crazy but she knew something was wrong with Scott and she felt helpless; a feeling that she could not stand when it came to one of her siblings. Biting her lip, she wondered if she should get dressed to go out but tossed the idea away as quickly as it had entered her mind. No matter that she knew he was in trouble, it certainly wouldn't lead her to him.

She stomped her foot in irritation. Well, now there was certainly no chance of her falling back to sleep until she knew he was home and safe. All she could do was wait. With any luck, it wouldn't be that big of a deal. A small fight from being half sloshed. Or maybe he was robbed by a prostitute; it would serve him right if he was going about like a rogue. Slowly, she began to relax a bit and the knot of anxiety loosened. Shaking her head, she moved into the parlor, whose large front window gave her a clear view of the street. Her piano was positioned right in front of that window so on beautiful spring days she could feel the breeze on her face as she played.

Sitting on the edge of the bench, she straightened her spine and poised her fingers over the keys. Closing her eyes, she took a long, cleansing breath and began to play softly as she exhaled. Beethoven's Moonlight sonata filled the room; it was by far her favorite to play and she let the music pour over her, sweeping along through her veins and washing over her soul. Never did she feel more safe and at peace as she did when playing the piano. Music was pure, lovely and one sided. Sometimes, it felt like the only thing that made any sense to her.

Opening her eyes, she let her gaze wander to the street outside as she continued to play and the snow began to fall softly from the heavens. Over and over, she played the Moonlight sonata until the moment when two people entered the frame of the window. Clara watched and her fingers slowly let the music die as they made a left and started up the front walkway. For a moment her eyes were held by the footsteps in the snow, mesmerized at how quickly the purity of the moment a snowflake touched the ground could be sullied by someone's boot. Shaking her head, she quickly moved from the parlor to the entryway to intercept the two.

It was Racetrack who opened the door and it was his face she saw first but she ignored him as she caught sight of her twin brother who met her eyes with his identical green ones with the exception that one of his was swollen shut as the skin around the other turned a nice shade of purple. Scott gave her a sheepish grin, "Uh, hey sis."

Clara Renwick scowled at her brother who was older than her by two and a half minutes although often times acted more childish than their fourteen year old sister. "What the blazes did you get yourself into?"

Racetrack raised an eyebrow, "Can we, ah, come in first?"

Folding her arms in front of her, she straightened her spine and shook her head, "Not until you tell me what happened."

Scott and Race stared at her like she was insane, and honestly she did not care. She wanted answers now and so she waited for them to tell her; except they didn't. Race slid out from under Scott's arm and took a step directly in front of her. He wasn't a tall man by any means, but he had at least half a foot to her five feet. She raised an eyebrow at him, daring him to shove her aside but was taken by surprise as he wrapped his arms around her waist and forcibly picked her up and moved her out of the doorway.

"Put me down, Racetrack Higgins!" She shrieked, balling her hand into a fist and hitting him on the chest.

He set her down gently and moved back to the door to help Scott in, completely ignoring her as she stared in disbelief after them as they headed up the stairs to Scott's room and it was only several minutes later that Race came back into view. "Ya gotta family doctor you can call? He might have a few bruised ribs."

His warm chocolate eyes were filled with concern and he didn't look the least bit put out by Scott or her. Race was probably the only person she couldn't ever figure out, but perhaps that was mostly due to the fact that of all her brother's friends he was the one she stayed as far away from as she could.

"Tell me what happened." She demanded, her voice quieter now but no less forceful.

The Italian man glanced down the hallway before coming down the grand staircase. He gestured into the parlor and so she followed him as he sat on the sofa and ran a hand through his thick, dark hair. Slowly, she sat down to the left of him, "Scott was playin' cards with the wrong fellahs. He cheated, didn't get caught outright but da one guy suspects as much. His name's Barkers and he sent a few goons aftah ya brotha. Luckily, they caught up ta him right next ta the Hotel and I was able ta find him before they did too much damage."

She thought this over before asking her next question, "What sort of trouble could this Barkers bring to Scott?"

He gave her an appraising look before replying, "He'll want what Scott won, what he feels is owed ta him."

From his expression and the way he left that sentence, she could tell there was more but he didn't look inclined to say, so she prompted him, "And?"

Race shrugged, "Barkers decides if there's anythin' else besides da winnings he's owed." His deep Italian accent combined with the rough, lower class dialect made it seem much more ominous.

Clara found herself studying his profile, noticing the tiniest laugh line beginning to show beside his eye, the way his jet black hair was getting a tad too long, and the way his hand twitched on his knee. She knew he favored cigars, could remember precisely the taste of it on his lips when he'd kissed her so long ago, and figured that perhaps it was a nervous itch indicating that he wanted one but Race had always politely taken them outside although her own father smoked in nearly every room of the house. Even with that laugh line, she could see the weariness about him. The way his shoulders sunk just a bit lower than most men she knew his age; as if the world were resting there, growing larger with each passing day.

She wondered why he'd even bothered with her brother. He already seemed to have been through much more than a person could be in one life.

"When would he need to see Barkers?" She asked, finally, just as he turned his head to meet her unwavering gaze.

He stared back at her, the emotion in his soft, brown gaze unreadable to her and for a moment she felt a stab of sudden sorrow that she did not know him well enough to understand what it was. Was he, perhaps, remembering their kiss from that night three years ago? A kiss that haunted her every day though she had tried many times to, unsuccessfully, forget it.

Slowly, Race stood and he seemed to tower over her more so than usual. She recognized the move as something a man would do to show dominance over a woman but for some reason when it came to Racetrack Higgins, it seemed more protective than autocratic. "Soon, doll. Before Barkers get's it in his head that Scott ain't willin' ta pay up and in turn decides ta shut him up."

Clara wasn't as streetwise as the man before her, but she was intelligent enough to understand the connotations of what that last statement meant; either Scott paid Barkers in cash or he paid with his life.

**A/N: This took a little longer to write than I intended and I WAS going to update Following You first but as I've seemed to hit writer's block (gah!) on that story I decided to finish this chapter and get it out. **

**Thank you to stress, Lyrical Ballads and Austra for reviewing last chapter and Kirsten Erin and Narniafan96 for reviewing the Prologue. I hope you all enjoyed this little bit from Clara's perspective. **

**I KNOW you're probably wondering about the summary and I PROMISE it'll all begin in the next chapter. On another note, I love hearing what you all think, especially because this story focuses on our beloved character's later in life than most fanfics, so please take a minute to review!**

**Truly,**

**Joker is Poker with a J~**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize. Everything you DO recognize belong to their respective owners. **


	4. Chapter Three

Chapter 3

_"Gambling is the son of avarice and the father of despair." (French Proverb)_

He hated telling her the truth but at the same time he knew she needed to know. What Scott had gotten himself into would affect his entire family and Race could almost ring his neck for causing such worry on a good family.

"Hey, don't worry about it." Race found himself saying as he took a step towards her and crouched down to be eye level, not wanting to cause her any undue worry. "I'll take care of it." He tried to catch her emerald green eyes so she would see his sincerity but she refused to meet his.

"No." She said, standing and turning away from him, "It's not your problem. It's ours and we'll fix it. Thank you, but you can go."

Slowly, he got back to his feet as he kept his eyes trained on her back, mesmerized for a moment by the soft, auburn ringlets that fell down. Besides her womanly figure and the height difference, she and Scott were identical in hair and eye color. Sometimes it was a little startling when they both looked at you at the same time.

Thoughts turning back to her last words, he knew there was one absolute truth when it came to Clara Renwick; there was no one she was more loyal to than her family. For that alone, she had always held his respect; family was term that an orphan like him could only barely grasp the meaning of. It was also his secret desire to have such a thing.

Race understood her reluctance to put faith in a stranger. Yes, he was her brother's best friend but it was true Clara and he had never spoken more than four words to each other since the night he'd drunkenly kissed her. He didn't blame her in the least but he also could not let anything happen to this family. "I'm goin' ta do what I can, Clara. Whether you agreed ta my help or not. Ya don't know the first thing about those goons."

She turned on him instantly as a fire sparked in her green eyes, "Yes, Race, and I suppose you know exactly the kind of men they are, being one of them?"

The jab hurt more than he'd ever let her see and it took him a second to reply, "Nah, doll, ya got it wrong. But, I been around them kinda men all my life so I have a much bettah idea than you."

Clara glowered, "You are a gambler, Race. You're just like all the rest. What is it you're looking to gain by schmoozing up to my brother?"

"Everyone's gotta want somethin' from you, is that it?" He retorted, furious by her close mindedness and sudden accusations.

"In every encounter I've had, yes."

Race jammed his hat on his head, "Well, then. I'll be on my way. Let Scott know I'm here ta help _him_ even if his stubborn sistah won't accept." Before she could open that cursed mouth of hers, he was out the door.

Pulling his thin jacket closer, he hurried down the sidewalk without looking back. He was livid at the way she had implied he was like Barkers and his bullies. She didn't know the first thing about him. Sitting in her big fancy house with her family and her money, assuming she could look down on everyone else. For some insane reason, he had thought she was like the rest of her family but she wasn't. She was just like all the other stuck up, hoity-toity rich folks who thought anyone who didn't have money was dirt.

He kicked at the sidewalk in anger, wishing he'd have thought to bring his cigars. There was nothing he needed more at this moment than a good ol' stogie to calm him down.

The last time he was this angry…well, it had involved the same woman as now but before he hadn't been angry _at_ her but rather _for_ her. Sighing, attempting to calm his anger without the tobacco, he put his hands in his pockets and as he walked he watched the sky begin to lighten. It was close to dawn; he'd have to stay up a few more hours to make up for this time lost. At least he'd get to see Mush and Blink. Working nights had offered him little opportunity to see his old friends.

When he walked through the door, he was met by a haggard looking David. "Sorry, Dave." He murmured, coming around the desk as he pulled off his jacket, "Thanks. I think you should go back and catch some sleep."

David raised an eyebrow, "You don't look good, Race. How's Scott?" He asked, ignoring Race's suggestion.

The Italian man itched for a cigar but shoved the need away, "He'll be fine. Family's takin' care of him."

His friend caught the bitterness in his voice but he over looked it as he stood up. David knew better than to pry, "I have a delivery in fifteen minutes so I'll be in the office if you need me."

Race made no comment, having well learned that tone of voice over the last few years. He lifted his hand to wave Dave off before turning back to the ledgers to have something to keep his mind off of a certain red haired woman. For the next hour or so, he went over numbers and dates thankful that they at least didn't turn on him.

"Aye, Race. Workin' late?" Blink's voice brought him out of his work and he looked up to meet the light blue eyes of his long-time friend. It had been quite a few years since Blink had worn his eye patch but the former newsies had never quite gotten out of the habit of calling each other by their nicknames.

Race nodded, "Yeah, mornin' Blink."

Blink leaned against the desk, "So, I was with this dame last night and it turns out she knows ya."

The gambler raised an eyebrow, "Yeah? And?" He felt a stab of annoyance, Blink was a ladies' man and though they were friends he didn't often let anyone forget it.

Blink hadn't changed so much as David but he had grown cockier. The tow headed man could even give Spot Conlon a run for his money these days for being the most arrogant man; though to be honest Spot had grown more humble after quitting the newsboy business and settling down to a quiet life with his expecting wife. "Yeah, she said ya guys went out ta dinner a few weeks ago and then ya never came back around."

He winced, knowing exactly who Blink was talking about. "How'd ya meet her?" He asked, not really caring but knowing it was the right thing to ask. Not to mention she worked in Queens which was farther out of the way than Blink usually went to pick up women.

"She was hoverin' around here just the othah day. Think she was waitin' for you but then she met me." He winked at Race before cocking his head to the side, "That ain't a problem, is it?"

At least he honestly cared if he hurt one of his friends, Race thought before shrugging, "Not problem. Found her loud and irritating. She also makes this weird noise when she's chewing her food."

Blink got a thoughtful look on his face before his eyes widened and he groaned, "Ya right. I ovah looked it last night cuz I knew she'd put out. Now that ya mention it, though…" He shivered, "Glad ya picky as all hell, Race. Ya just helped a fellow out." He patted the top of the desk, "Well, gettin' a delivery for the restaurant so I better jump on that." Giving a nod, he turned to the right and headed towards the kitchens.

Brows furrowed, Race watched him leave. Was he picky when it came to women? Nah, he'd had his fair share, though to be honest every one of them either got on his nerves or screwed him over. Of course, his luck with women wasn't nearly as bad as Mush's. Shaking his head, he resumed his work on the books, trying not to think to hardly about Blink's words.

Another half hour passed by before Mush arrived. Sharp, bright, and optimistic as always, Mush greeted him as soon as he passed through the doors, "Race! How was the night shift?" He asked, moving around the front desk. His easy-going personality and honest face had without a doubt been the reason he'd been chosen as Manager of the front desk. It didn't hurt, either, that David had grown to hate the tediousness of dealing with people.

"Not too terrible. How's it goin', Mush?" He replied as he stood to stretch. Mush being here meant it was his cue to head home. Already, he couldn't wait to be in his bed. The events of the past few hours had seemed to wring him out and he didn't think he could take much more without a few good hours of sleep.

Mush gave him a large smile, "Met a woman yestahday."

Race patted him on the back, "Good ta hear, buddy. Tell Davey I'm headin' home, awright?" He kept his opinions to himself about Mush's statement. He'd been saying that same thing since he was fourteen and almost every time the girl, or as he got older, woman, ended up breaking the guys' heart. It never seemed to deter him, though, and that's why Race made no move to comment. "Take care."

"You, too!" Mush replied.

The moment Racetrack was out the front door, he was pulling out a cigar. He had it lit in under a second and leaned against the building to savor the first taste of the tobacco since the night before. David frowned on him taking smoke breaks, so he often went the entire night without one.

He exhaled as he began his trek home, his thoughts trying to turn to Clara but he refused to let them. Luckily, his apartment was only a few blocks and three streets over from the hotel.

If he had been home at his usual time, he wouldn't have gotten the letter until he woke up much later in the day. As it was, the events of the early morning led him to arrive home at the exact moment when his landlord was going through mail.

"Ah, Tony. It seems ya got a letter." His landlord said, as Race walked through the front door of the building.

It took a moment for the thick, Irish brogue to break through is murky thoughts. "Oh," Was his immediate response because it was not a common occurrence for him to receive mail. Slowly, he reached out and took the small, white envelope from the man and stared down at the obviously rushed script.

Originally, the person had mailed it to the Lodging House for Kloppman to forward to him. This stumped him; most everyone who knew him, knew where he lived.

"Thanks." He told his landlord as he started up the stairs, keeping his eyes on the front of the letter the entire way up to the fourth floor. He opened the door mechanically and paused just inside to rip it open, the suspense of who was writing to him almost too much for him to take.

_Dear Racetrack Higgins,_

_ My name is Sophie. I know you do not know me but I know you are acquainted with my father's tenant, Jack Kelly. He talks of you often and it is because of the stories he tells me that I believe I can trust you. Jack is in a bad way, Mr. Higgins. Lately, he's talked of nothing but New York, the newsies, and so much else. _

_ But, I'm afraid Jack has been drinking a lot, too, recently and I am not quite sure why. He was fired not so long ago and is facing eviction from my father. I thought, as he is your friend, that you could come to Chicago and help take him back with you to New York. I don't want to pressure you, but he has till the end of the month. Our building is at 428 S. Holden Ct. I pray this letter reaches you, the only address Jack could give me was the Lodging House he use to live at. Please, Mr. Higgins, Jack needs a friend right now. _

_ Sincerely,_

_ Sophie Thomas_

Race shut the door slowly behind him, wondering how he should bring up to his boss that he needed time off to help the man he hated.

**A/N: So, it begins again! Haha, I'm really excited about this chapter. Please, let me know what you think in a review!**

**Truly,**

**Joker is Poker with a J~**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize. Everything you DO recognize belong to their respective owners. **


	5. Chapter Four

**Chapter 4**

_Life is like a game of cards. The hand that is dealt to you is determinism; though the way you play it is free will. (Jawaharlal Nehru)_

His sudden departure left her tired. Of course, she knew what she had said was wrong, could even kick herself for grouping him with the rest of those despicable men, but in all honesty there was something about Racetrack that made her increasingly aware of the fact that while she could hide from her peers, she couldn't hide from herself.

Maybe it was more than that, even, but right now she didn't have the energy or the will to dig deeper into her psyche. She just wanted things to be black and white. Unfortunately, life was shades of grey and more often than not, messy as all get out.

Sighing softly, she slowly made her way up the staircase and down the hall to her brother's room. She knocked and when she didn't get an answer, she hesitantly pushed open the door.

Scott's eyes were closed but he spoke before she'd even taken her first step into the room, "What did you say to him?" He asked his voice deep with exhaustion.

Startled by his insight, Clara just stood there for a second before coming over to sit beside him on the bed, "What are you talking about?" She replied, half wishing he didn't know her better than anyone else.

He opened his identical green eyes to glare at her, "You know what I'm talking about, Clara. Why did Race storm out of here?"

Defensive, she narrowed her own eyes, "He didn't get it that his help wasn't wanted or needed." She snapped, averting her eyes to her lap and playing with the strings of her robe.

"You're acting childish." Scott stated.

"Me?" She exclaimed, standing to glower down at him, "I'm not the one cheating at cards with men that can potentially _kill_ me. I'm not the one inviting a gambler to dinner most nights and introducing him to my family as if he's royalty." She hissed before adding, sarcastically, "Yes, I guess I am acting childish by saving your backside from thugs."

Her twin jerked up to a sitting position, barely registering his pain as he shot her a nasty look, "So I made a mistake Clara, I'm not the first to do that in the family." She took a step back at the low blow as he continued recklessly, "And yeah, maybe I invite Racetrack to dinner now and then but you don't know the first damn thing about him so don't presume to know what kind of man he is. Yes, you are acting childish because you can't do anything against those men and those 'thugs' will do a lot worse than just kill me." He paused, to let her imagination run rampant before adding, softly, "You sent away the only man willing to stand between them and us."

They stared each other down. Finally, Clara shook back her hair and glanced away, "I'm just trying to protect our family. _He's_ not part of it, so why should he be offering help?"

Slowly, Scott lowered himself back onto the bed, "Race is my best friend. He has no family of his own to protect so he substitutes ours."

That bit of information startled her and she turned to look at her brother. "He's an orphan?" She whispered in awe as her eyes widened in pity. They had never spoken of Race's past, where he came from or even where he lived; she had never taken the time to think about it.

He smirked, knowing his sister's secret downfall. Every Sunday she took the time after church to go to one particular Orphanage in Brooklyn. St. Joseph Orphan Asylum had numerous orphaned girls from infant to twenty-one and ever since she'd called off her engagement she had put many hours and most of her allowance into that one building. More often than not, she spent long hours looking for jobs for the older girls so they could live independently.

"Yeah." Scott murmured, his eyes going to the window where the snow was still falling softly.

Shame and regret filled her for a moment before she pushed it away, "That doesn't mean he doesn't have ulterior motives." Her defense was weakened, though. She was already planning on her apology to the man, even as a part of her more cynical side whispered that his being an orphan didn't change anything. That living on the streets made him more like the thugs who were out for her brother's money or blood, not less.

Letting out a frustrated sigh, Scott turned his head away from her, "Whatever, Clara. Call the doctor, please. Then, maybe think about apologizing to my friend. He hasn't done anything but protect me in five years so can you give him the benefit of the doubt?"

She didn't reply, only turned away to call a maid. Giving instructions to the young girl, Clara then turned back to her own room as exhaustion swept through her; she would apologize, as Scott had asked, but after she got a few hours of sleep. With that in mind, she crawled into bed sure that she would fall asleep quickly.

But, as her eyes closed against the dawning morning, an unbidden memory of Race before he left came into her mind. At the time, she hadn't thought anything about it, the look that had crossed his face the moment she'd told him he was just like all the rest. Although, now when she dwelled on it, she could read clearly from her memory the sort of hurt that had appeared on his face for that briefest of moments. As if her clumping him with the others had hit a nerve, a sore spot, and she had effectively cut him as deep as she had been aiming to.

Sleep over took her not too long after these thoughts, but that picture in her mind left her sleep troubled and short. Barely three hours later she found herself once again wide awake. The sun was bright, even brighter now with the few layers of pure, pristine snow on the ground.

"Thank you, Katy." She murmured to her maid as Katy finished fastening her dress. Clara slipped on her boots and grabbed her coat. "I have to go call on Racetrack. Do you mind coming along?"

"No, m'am." Katy replied.

"Grab your coat, then. Meet me downstairs in five minutes."

"Yes, m'am."

Clara watched her hurry away. When they were younger they had been the best of friends, even after Clara attended a finishing school they had still been close, staying up late and whispering secrets and gossips. Things had changed, though, and the distance between them had grown over the last few years. She knew Katherine blamed herself, but she didn't know how to tell her it hadn't been her fault.

Sighing, Clara walked down the hall to Scott's room. She pushed open the door to see her mother sitting beside her brother's bed. He was clearly fast asleep so she went over to her mother and whispered, "How is he?"

"The doctor was very positive. Just a few bruised ribs. He'll be all better in a few weeks." Her mother replied, reaching over to brush a lock of his auburn hair out of his eyes.

Clara nodded in approval before getting to business, "I need to go see Racetrack…to apologize. I don't know where he lives, though."

Her mother's sky blue eyes met her green ones, "Hang on one moment, dear. I believe I have his address."

Surprised, Clara took a step back as her mother stood and hurried out of the room. Her mother was a few inches shorter than Clara, the same red hair as her and Scott but the blue eyes had gone to Diana. Most of the time Clara thought her mother was too into the romance novels she read, believed everyone got their happy endings and knights in shining armor.

But, sometimes her mother came through. Following her mother, she stopped in the doorway of her father's study and watched as her mother pulled out a small book and flipped through the pages. "Ah, here it is." She copied the address and handed the slip of paper to Clara, "Be careful, dear. You're taking Katherine with you, right?"

"Yes, mother." Clara replied, looking down at the address.

"Good. Tell Race he should come over for dinner soon, we haven't seen him in awhile. He's working too hard at that hotel." Her mother's tone was reprimanding, but soft as if she were talking about one of her own.

"I will, mother." Clara replied, as she made her way down the staircase.

"Clara? Can I come with you to see Race?" Diana's voice echoed across the large entry even before she appeared her face wide and hopeful. She had their mother's blue eyes, but their father's dark hair, though there was never any doubt she was her sister.

Clara stopped beside Katy and turned back to her sister, "I'm sorry, Di. Not this time, I have something important to talk to him about."

Diana's face fell but she nodded, "Alright."

With that, Clara swept out of the house and began her trek with Katy to the address on the paper. "I do hope I'm not disturbing him." She told her.

Katy didn't reply, only nodded her head in agreement.

"How are your brother's?" Clara asked, trying to start a conversation.

That seemed to be the wrong thing to say because Katy seemed to clam up even more, her face darkening slightly.

Deterred, they walked the rest of the way in silence as Clara fretted over this encounter with Race. They reached the building sooner than she had thought and she stared up at it. The scrap of paper claimed he lived in apartment four-oh-four, so she assumed that would be the fourth floor. Lifting her skirts just a bit, she climbed the front steps and just as she reached for the door knob, the door swung in and there was Racetrack Higgins standing before her.

"Clara?" He asked, surprise clear on his face.

She felt her stomach do a flip as he said her name. Ignoring it, she swallowed and straightened her spine as she prepared to give him her apology, "Racetrack."

The Italian man glanced at Katherine behind her, took a cursory look up and down the street before moving forward and taking her by the elbow, "Whataya doin' here?" He asked, interrupting her speech before she even began.

"I'm here to apologize." She told him as he began to tow her down the street, his grip on her elbow tightening.

"Yeah?" He asked, his face tight and dark, "And on ya way here did ya happen ta realize ya bein' followed?"

Clara halted, pulling him back a step, "What?"

Race turned to stand directly in front of her, "Ya bein' tailed, dollface. Stay here."

Before she could reply, he'd turned down the alley to their left. For a moment it was quiet and then the sounds of a scuffle, a grunt and then it was quiet once more. Curious, Clara took a few steps towards the alley and gasped as she saw Race holding a guy in a tight headlock, whispering in the guy's ear.

Race suddenly released the man and they both watched as he fled down the alley and took a right. Rolling his eyes, he turned and caught her there, "I told ya ta stay put." His tone was irritated and she raised an eyebrow.

"You're not the boss of me." She told him, leveling her chin and placing her hands on her hips.

Sighing, he took a few steps so that he was so close she could feel his breath on her face, "Listen, Clara. Ya gotta be careful. Scott's targeted, therefore your family is targeted. Unfortunately, I have ta leave town foah a few days so ya gonna have ta wise up and pay attention."

Stumped, she stared up at him, "You're leaving?"

He rubbed his face, the fatigue plain there as he replied, "An old friend needs me in Chicago. I have ta go ta the Benjamin and get a few days off."

Still, she stared at him, "Just like that? You're leaving town, leaving us unprotected after you _said_ you'd help us?"

He winced, "I'll do what I can before I leave."

She shook her head, "No. You're not bailing on us. I'm going with you." She said the words before she even knew she had already set her mind on it. She was going with him, if only to make sure he came back.

"Ya not coming with me ta Chicago." He chuckled, as if the thought was ridiculous.

The small Irish woman squared her shoulders, "Oh, yes, I am, Racetrack Higgins and you are not stopping me."

**A/N: Thanks to those who reviewed! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Introduces a new character and shows us a little more of what is going through Clara's mind! Please review!**

**Truly,**

**Joker is Poker with a J~**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize. Everything you DO recognize belong to their respective owners. **


	6. Chapter Five

**Chapter 5**

_Gambling: The sure way of getting nothing from something. (Wilson Mizner)_

Race realized he was staring at her with a dumbfounded look on his face but in his defense he had never met any woman quite like Clara Renwick. In a society full of timid girls raised with the ideology that they were to simply do as they were told by father or husband, Clara stood out as a bright, stubborn beacon.

After successfully recovering from his shock, he leaned back slightly and raised an eyebrow at her, "Is that right?" He asked, pulling a cigar out of his pocket and placing it in his mouth to hide his growing smile. After the morning he'd been having, he felt it was only his right and he didn't want her to know that instead of her offer infuriating him it only succeeded in amusing him.

"Yes." She replied, her eyes glittering with defiance.

He lit his cigar and took a pull from it as his eyes slid from Clara to the girl standing a few feet behind her, doing her best to blend in with the surroundings. Except that she was doing anything but that. She was vastly different from the tiny woman in front of him with her tall, willowy frame, her dark eyes, darker hair and the contrasting alabaster skin. He wouldn't put her in the same category of beautiful as Clara but he wouldn't say she was unattractive.

Nodding his head to her, aware that her being there meant that she was Clara's maid, he introduced himself, "Racetrack Higgins. And you are?"

"Katherine." She replied, her eyes not even meeting his but staying locked onto Clara's back.

Following Katherine's gaze, he took in Clara's flushed cheeks and decided he'd made a tactical error. While her anger earlier had been endearing, it looked as if he'd said or did the wrong thing. He flicked the ashes off the end of his cigar, backpedalling after receiving that dark look from her. Thinking fast, he turned the conversation back to the matter at hand, "Ya think ya family's just gonna let ya run off ta Chicago with me? The gambler?"

Surely enough, Clara's scowl lightened a bit, "I'll just tell them I'm staying at my cousins house in Queens for a week or so."

He quirked an eyebrow, "Ya gonna lie ta them?"

She shrugged, "Katy will cover for me. Now, I must get back home and make preparations."

As she turned, he remembered why she had really come, "'ey, what a minute."

Half turning, she met his gaze and gave him an inquiring look.

"What about that apology kiss ya came ta give me?"

Her mouth fell open as she sputtered, "I never promised a kiss!"

Race couldn't stop the laugh that burst from his lips. Her angry glare only made him laugh harder, "I couldn't resist." He managed through his mirth.

With a final glare, she stalked away. Katherine paused, "You shouldn't have done that." She murmured quietly before following the petite red-head.

After his laughter had died away and he was half way to the hotel he realized Katherine had meant he shouldn't have introduced himself to her, not that he shouldn't have teased Clara about a kiss.

* * *

><p>David looked up in surprise as Race strolled through the front doors. He'd been talking to Mush and Blink about a customer in room three thirty-four that had checked out of their room but not before leaving the shower and sink running. Inwardly, he winced at Race's appearance.<p>

"Well, ya don't look good, Race." He told his friend as the Italian stopped in front of the desk.

"Tell me about it." Race replied.

Blink's blonde eyebrows were nearly in his hair, "Did ya get any sleep?"

"No." He snapped shortly, sagging against the counter after making sure there were no patrons around. Slowly, he pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and laid it on the counter, "Dave…I hate ta ask ya but I need to take a week or so off."

Raising his eyebrow, David just as slowly pulled the paper to him and glanced down at it as Mush and Blink both leaned over his shoulder. The familiar name was the first thing he read and then he quickly went over the entire thing. So, Jack needed help. Of course, he was too stubborn to ask for it on his own and so this girl had gone and contacted Race for him.

Mush gave a low whistle, "Woah, I haven't heard a word from Jack since he left…"

"No one has." Blink added, blue eyes still on the letter.

_Typical Jack_, David thought fleetingly as he passed the paper back to Race, trying to keep a lid on his anger, "I'll give you one week." Now, he had to go back to his office and fix the schedule, send some messengers and see who would be available to do the night desk. He had a brief premonition of doing it himself. This would not be a good week.

Race looked relieved, "Alright. If I get back sooner I'll let ya know."

Before David could reply, the front door opened and a tall girl in her early twenties came in, "Race?"

He straightened and turned to see who it was before a look of surprise flit across his face, "Katherine? Is something wrong with Clara?" David's eyebrows rose as the name came from his friend's mouth and the tone in which he spoke it. He didn't seem to realize that the way her name crossed his lips was almost as if she were the most treasured thing he owned. The hotel owner filed that little bit of information away for later examination.

The dark-haired girl paused, as if she, too, had caught the way Race had spoken the name before she replied softly, "No. She just told me to tell you she'll meet you at Grand Central Station at eight a.m. tomorrow morning. Don't be late." Katherine even wagged her finger at him.

"Clara shook her finger, am I right?" Race asked, grinning.

Dropping her hand, the maid shrugged, "Yeah. She does it much better than I." For a moment she just stood there awkwardly.

"Hi." Blink's voice to the right of David seemed loud in the quiet lobby. Shooting Mush a wink, Blink went around the front desk and smiled at the maid, "I'm Blink."

Katherine gave him a once over before nodding to Race, "I'm leaving."

David waited until she was out of the hotel before he chuckled, "Nice one, Blink."

The blonde hair man gazed after her until she disappeared from sight, "Race. Race, ya gotta tell me who that was."

Race and Dave shared a look, "I don't think so, Blink…" Race began, wondering what Clara would do to him if one of his friends ruined her maid.

Blink turned to give Race a deeply injured look, "Ya don't trust me? How long have ya known me, Race?" He asked, stepping up next to the gambler.

"No, and I known ya long enough ta not tell ya her name." Race gave a nod to Dave, "Thank ya, Davey. I'll be seeing you boys." He started out as Blink followed him.

"Ya scared I'll break her heart?" Blink pestered.

Race shook his head as he stopped at the door, "No, I'm scared what her employer'll do ta me if ya break her heart." He gave Blink one last look before he stepped out onto the sidewalk. For a moment he looked around at the busy city open before him, covered in a light layer of snow. What he wanted to do was get home and sleep the day away until he had to meet an infuriating woman in the morning. He was already exhausted thinking about the week to follow.

Unfortunately, he had more pressing matters at hand and so, with a long sigh, he headed off in a different direction.

**A/N: It's short, I know, but everything is slowly building up. You'll see how in time and even in the stories to follow. Just so you are all aware, I plan on doing a story each for Mush, Blink and David in that order. Welp, thank you to all who reviewed! I love hearing your reactions/guess/thoughts/feelings, etc. so PLEASE continue to review!**

**Truly,**

**Joker is Poker with a J~**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize. Everything you DO recognize belong to their respective owners. **


	7. Chapter Six

**Chapter 6**

_The commonest mistake in history is underestimating your opponent; it happens at the poker table all the time. ~David Shoup_

He stared at the girl before her, her words taking a minute to sink in. Finally, when comprehension dawned, he sat up, "Ya did what?"

Sophie took a step back, a lock of blonde hair falling from her messy up-do into her eyes, "I sent a letter to Racetrack." She murmured softly, looking apprehensive of his reaction.

Through his foggy head, he recognized her look but he was too tired, too angry, too everything to soothe the younger girl, "Whadja say ta 'im?" Jack asked, blearily wiping the crusts out of his eyes, trying to think around the booze that was still running through his blood. He hadn't seen any of his former newsie friends since he'd left, didn't know what any of them were up to though he could almost guess what Race was doing. What Race had always done best; gamble. There was no way the Italian would make it to Chicago.

The girl shifted, "That you were going to be evicted soon, that you were drinking and had lost your job at the factory…" she trailed off to study his face. "I told him you needed help."

Slowly, he stood up and moved to look out the window. Chicago was busy, beginning to flourish with industrialization, but it couldn't hold a candle to New York. He'd longed to leave that city behind, to head out west with the fresh air and the sun that was so much bigger…

Sighing, turning away from the window and his thoughts to meet Sophie's jade eyes, "He won't come, Soph. He won't have any money. We call him Racetrack foah a reason." Even as he told her-and himself-this, he couldn't help but hope that Race _could_ help him. He needed to be back in New York; even more so after receiving the letter. Unfortunately, he'd lost his job even before the news and he didn't have money to make rent let alone get home.

Sophie took a few steps closer, "He'll come, Jack."

He'd been trying to get away from that city for so long it was hard to imagine going back, but he needed to, "I hope ya right." Was his reply as off in the distance a loud train whistled…

* * *

><p>Clara hurried towards the train as the whistle sounded. Frantically, she reached up for the handle to pull herself aboard but her hand kept slipping. Just as the train began to pull away from the station, she felt her hand grasp warm skin and she looked up in surprise as Racetrack pulled her up and inside the train car in one swift, easy motion.<p>

Her breath caught in her throat as Race steadied her just inside as the train continued to pick up speed. Looking up from under her lashes, she found herself extremely close to him. It immediately brought to her mind the memory of their first kiss, the only kiss they'd shared, and she felt her cheeks heat up as she remembered how willingly she had responded to him.

Catching the faint smell of tobacco and a scent that was unique to Race, she instinctively inhaled just as he told her, mockingly, "Don't be late."

Squeaking in surprise, she whacked his arm in irritation as she let go to grab her suitcase, "I'll have you know I had a perfectly legitimate excuse for being late." Pulling her hand out of his, she turned her nose up and began to walk down the aisle, looking in each compartment for an unoccupied one.

"I already got us a compartment." He told her, grabbing her suitcase and taking it as he turned to go the opposite way, "And it's down here."

She narrowed her eyes on his back but had no choice but to follow him. They walked along the constricted corridor, pushing past the occasional passenger before he finally stopped and opened the door. "What's this?" She asked, staring at the two facing, padded benches that made up the majority of the compartment.

"Uh, a compartment." Race's sarcastic reply was muffled as he hoisted her suitcase onto the top rack above the seats, "What the hell ya got in here? A body?" He asked, grunting as he finally managed to get it in place.

Clara scowled, addressing the first problem, "Where's the space, the washroom, the _bed_?" Pausing long enough to give him a glare, she added, "And you try packing seven dresses into one suitcase, not to mention my undergarments." She whispered that last bit and he chuckled as he took a seat and pulled out a cigar.

"There ain't no bed, sweetheaht. I'm on a bit of a budget so I had ta get the cheap seats. Excuse me if this arrangement offends ya sensibilities." He cocked an eyebrow at her as if daring her to come inside.

Blowing out a breath, she walked into the compartment, shut the door behind her and sat opposite him. "What about a washroom?" She asked, her voice subdued.

He took a long draw from his cigar before replying, "I think there's one down the hall. On the left."

"I have to use the one everyone _else_ is using?" While she wasn't nearly as spoiled as other girls of her upbringing and though she was as logical as a woman was permitted to be, she had still grown accustomed to the finer things in life. That included private toilets.

The Italian shook his head and ignored her question to look out of the window as New York City fast became a tiny version of its self in the distance.

Clara studied his profile, aware that what she knew him to be, a gambler, was turning out to be completely at odds with who he might be underneath. Although, maybe she was jumping to conclusions; perhaps he was a gambler, but that wasn't _all_ he was.

Her thoughts were interrupted as he turned to raise an eyebrow at her, "Yes?"

Feeling heat rise in her cheeks, she turned her gaze out the window, "Nothing." She said, brusquely.

"In that case," He began to say, pulling his feet up onto the bench and laying down on his back, knees bent and a balled up jacket as a pillow, "I'm gonna get some more shudeye, don't wonder off, will ya?"

"Why not?" She asked, jerking her head to stare at him.

Rolling his brown eyes he gave her an exasperated look, "Cuz ya nevah been far from home and ya don't have a nurse ta chaperone ya. Oh, and if anyone asks, ya my wife."

Clara gave him a look.

"What? I'm protectin ya reputation, sweetheart." Was his reply as he closed his eyes.

She rolled her own eyes and sat silently, waiting. As his breathing became deep and even, her stomach growled. Keeping her eyes on the man, she slowly stood and crept silently to the door. Holding her breath, she pulled it open just enough so she could squeeze through and didn't exhale until it once again closed. Taking a cursory glance around, she chose the right and headed in search of the dining car.

Her thoughts turned to the reason she had almost missed the train; her brother. He'd gotten a letter the night before that he refused to show her and she had a suspicion it hadn't brought good news, despite the fact that Scott had proved to be much more chipper this morning. She had found herself pestering him far longer than she had meant to and just as she was heading out the door, already late enough as it was, he says the weirdest thing that made her think he knew exactly where she was heading.

"Have fun. Don't get blown away." He'd given her a smirk; not a smile, a smirk.

Of course, Chicago was known as the Windy City but it had also been very windy in New York the last few days so maybe he didn't know…then again, she tossed a glance back towards the way she'd come, back towards where Racetrack Higgins was napping, she didn't know him well enough to suspect he might have told her brother. What means that would gain him?

Sighing tired of trying to figure out her brother's elusive best friend, she finally arrived at the dining car. It only had about ten people, most in a few small groups, the other's spread out here and there like pin points on a map. Taking a seat near the window, she let her mind wander as the rhythm of the train lulled her into contentment.

"My, you're too pretty to be sitting there alone." A voice said, breaking her out of her thoughts.

Clara glanced up to meet the blue eyes of a rather plain looking fellow, "Can I help you?" She asked, remembering Race's warning. Of course, he didn't look like someone who meant her harm. His clothes weren't what her brother wore, but they were simple enough to be the clothes of a man of modest means. His hair was dark, his skin tanned, which had to be natural given it was January. She'd guess his features wore exotic enough, perhaps one of his parents was a Spaniard.

He smiled a rather brilliant smile before giving her a slight bow, "I was sitting alone and needed company…and you looked like you needed some, too. The name's Tomás Fuentes. Call me Tom."

"Clara…Higgins. Pleased to meet you. I'm just eating breakfast until my, ah, husband joins me." She replied, inwardly wincing every time she hesitated on claiming Race. Not to mention she was kicking herself for not finding out his actual name. Honestly, she hadn't expected anyone to approach her.

"Oh, so sorry." Tom responded, looking embarrassed, "Of course, a beautiful woman such as yourself would have a husband." He moved as if to go and then suddenly turned back to her, "But, might I say, he's a foolish man to let you out of his sight."

While his compliments were flattering, she felt the hair on the back of her neck rise in alarm. Why had this man approached her? Was it something to do with Scott? Race _had_ caught that person following her yesterday; could this man be of the same kind? Would Barkers really have his enemy's sister followed all the way to Chicago and back? Panic began to set in her stomach as she forced a gracious smile at Tom, "Well, since you mention that, I should probably go and see what's keeping him."

Tom inclined his head and moved out of her way. She felt his gaze on her until she was back on the passenger car and even then she was spooked. Her stomach growled, but she ignored it in favor of returning to the safety that had, somehow, become Racetrack.

**A/N: Hmm, the journey to Chicago begins. This should be fun. I'll start getting into the stuff I imagined when I first thought up this story. I was listening to the song At the Beginning from Anastasia. That was my initial inspiration for Race and Clara. I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! Many thanks to those of you reviewing, please keep them coming! I love to hear all you reactions/suspicions/thoughts!**

****Quick fun fact: In the original prologue of this story, Jack lived with Race. ****

**Truly, **

**Joker is Poker with a J~**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize. Everything you DO recognize belong to their respective owners. **


	8. Chapter Seven

**Chapter 7**

_"They gambled in the Garden of Eden, and they will again if there's another one." (Richard Albert Canfield)_

_Race could count the times he'd cried on one hand; when he was told his father was dead, when his mother committed suicide not long afterwards, and this moment. Why did he always relive this moment in his dreams? He was keenly aware it was a dream, so why couldn't he change things? The events never changed, he knew the inevitable; could see it play out just like that night so _why couldn't he change it_?_

_ Just as it happened in real life, the gun ripped through the strange silence that had befallen New York and he watched in dawning horror as it went straight for his friend, the innocent bystander who had no idea why-_

He was jolted out of the dream just as the bullet careened into the boy's abdomen, the blood soaking the gray shirt and for a second after his eyes opened all he saw was the deep red substance before his vision cleared to show the subdued red of Clara's hair as she turned around, moving from the compartment door to her seat. That explained the slamming that had brought him out of his sleep and he found himself feeling grateful he didn't have to experience again the ending of that memory.

Rubbing his eyes, he watched as she took a seat. She looked pale and withdrawn; as if she had been spooked. "Where'd ya go?" He asked.

For a minute he thought she wasn't going to answer, she opened her mouth, closed it, then opened it again, "I might have left to go to the dining car." She finally admitted.

Raising an eyebrow, he pulled out his pocket watch. It had barely been a full hour since they'd gotten underway. "What happened?" Was his next question as he slipped the watch back into his pocket.

Her brows puckered as a worried look passed over her face, "A man complimented me…It was odd."

He kept his brow raised, waiting for her to continue. But, it seemed, she was caught up in her thoughts. Annoyed that she was withholding something that bothered her, and wondering briefly why he seemed to care, he prodded, "And? Come, now. I'm shoah ya use ta compliments, sweetheart."

She rolled her eyes and he couldn't stop the chuckle as she replied, "Yes, Racetrack. But this man…He had an ulterior motive. I think," And here she leaned forward, her green eyes going wide and imploring and he felt himself leaning closer as well, "he was following me; perhaps, because of Scott's situation." Settling herself back in her seat, she watched expectantly for his reaction.

Race snorted as he leaned back in his own seat, "Ya being paranoid. No one's followin' us." She pursed her lips as she gazed at him, her expression unreadable, almost like she didn't quite believe that he didn't take her seriously. He stared back, fighting off the urge to drop his eyes to those lips as old memories flooded through his mind. Finally, she huffed and looked out the window; seceding the win to him which in turn brought a small smile to his mouth as he shook his head, "Ya eat anything in the dining car?" He asked, rubbing his stomach.

She shook her head, the curls that framed her face bouncing happily even while she wore a scowl. Race tried not to let the smile grow at her ornery attitude as he stood and stretched, "Awright, let's get some food. I'm starvin'."

Her head shot up, "What if that guy's there?"

"You can point him out ta me and I'll let ya know if he's followin' us. That good enough for you?" Race raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to agree although he couldn't understand why she was so distressed. Perhaps it was just because she was by herself for the first time, although why she didn't think he'd protect her he didn't know.

"Fine." Her stomach growled and he chuckled as they exited their compartment and headed in the direction of the dining car.

She walked in front of him, which probably hadn't been a good idea on his part he realized when his eyes kept traveling up and down her figure. He ground his teeth together; repeating over and over in his head that this wasn't some random dame he'd picked up this was his _best friend's sister_. Except, no matter how many times he repeated that, he couldn't keep his eyes off of her. He wondered briefly if her skin really was as soft as it looked…

His thoughts were just moving to images when she stopped suddenly and he had to pull up short to avoid running into her. Looking over her head, he realized they'd arrived at the dining car and she was scanning it.

Clara's shoulder's sagged and he knew even before he wasn't there even before she said, "He's not here."

Her voice was so forlorn that he found himself comforting her, despite the fact that he doubted anyone was following them. "Maybe he was scared ya were suspicious."

Unexpectedly, she turned and glared at him, "Don't patronize me."

Raising an eyebrow, he watched as she stalked away from him to take a seat at a small booth by the window. What an aggravating woman she was. If she were any other female, Race would have given up on her because Blink was right; he was picky. He realized no one was perfect but he could never really get passed the small irritations of most women. This floored him when he thought about all of Clara's misgivings, the insignificant facets of her personality that made her more frustrating than any woman he'd met before because, despite these imperfections, he found himself as attracted to her now as he'd been when he'd laid a drunken kiss on those pert lips of hers.

Fighting back a scowl and wondering what had gotten into him he took a seat across from her and picked up the menu. Whatever the reason for this strange magnetism to her it wouldn't matter; Clara was high-class glitz and he had just barely reached middle class and only because of Dave's friendship and trust getting him a good job.

Letting out a stream of air, he felt his gaze move above the menu to see Clara's face. "I wasn't patronizing you." He told her, dropping his eyes back to his menu when she glanced up.

"Yes, you were." She retorted, her back stiff.

He shook his head, frustrated but strangely not in the least bit annoyed by her stubbornness. After ordering, he turned to look out the window and watched the scenery pass as Clara sipped on her tea.

"You're an orphan?" She asked quite suddenly, jarring him out of his contentment.

He was surprised by the question and so he forgot he should censor himself around a lady such as her, "Yeah, since my dad was killed breakin' up a fight at a game of cards when I was eight. My ma killed herself not too long aftahwards." He paused, and glanced down at the table, noting unconsciously the patterns of the wood, "It happened a long time ago."

Clara's eye widened in horror and he could have smacked himself for being so brutally honest with her. It was too late, though, and he was strangely curious to see how she took this sudden information. After her shock wore off, she sat back in her seat and turned to look out the window.

"What?" Race asked, irritated that he hadn't gotten more of a reaction. "No pity? No, 'so sorry about your parents'?"

Slowly, she turned back to meet him straight on and shook her head, "No, no pity. I've heard worse stories. Like you said, it happened a long time ago. I'm sure you've gotten over it and you don't need my apologies."

He sat back in his own seat, a little mystified at her answer. He had gotten over the deaths of his parents, had thought about what it would accomplish to continue being angry at his father for trying to break up a fight, at his mother for not being strong enough to continue on without him, and he'd always come up short. There was no reason to hold grudges with the dead. It was better to thank them for the time they'd given the living and move on. Nothing would bring them back.

That wasn't to say those events had not had a huge impact on him. To this day, he usually stayed out of fights between others, with the exception of Scott. And perhaps his pickiness in women stemmed from the fact that his mother had been weak. Terrific lady, but weak in the ways that she couldn't seem to believe she could make it on her own, without a man. Maybe that was why he was strongly attracted to the woman in front of him.

It was his turn to ask a question, "What happened with you and ya fiancé?" He knew the story her brother had told him, but he wanted to hear it from her perspective.

She stiffened, her arms folded against her chest and she pulled into herself. He reflected that perhaps he'd asked the wrong question, but if she was going to clam up at the smallest things he was going to find out why. He refused to walk on egg shells around her. "That's none of you business." Clara told him, her tone final.

"Well, the deaths of my parents weren't any of your business, but I answered." Race countered.

"If I had known you were going to ask me something in return, I wouldn't have asked." She retorted, her green eyes sparking in anger.

"Too late for that, now isn't it?"

Huffing, she turned to look once more out the window, "If you must know, on the evening we were to announce our engagement I encountered upon him with a maid. Words were said and it was implied he was only marrying me for my money."

He had heard this from Scott, "Were you surprised?" He found himself asking, "Most uppah class marriages are for convenience."

"Yes…and no." She replied, still not meeting his gaze.

Before he could ask about that, their food arrived. He filed her answer away to ask at a later time as they ate in silence. The silence, though, was neither strained nor hostile. They had reached a tenuous understanding that made Race a little more hopeful for their trip to Chicago.

**A/N: It should start to pick up from here (I feel like I say that every chapter haha) but seriously. This is the turning point for the two. Please, leave me a review with your thoughts! It's much appreciated!**

**Fun Fact: In the original story, Clara was the **fiancé ** of a man Race played cards with. **

**Truly,**

**Joker is Poker with a J~**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize. Everything you DO recognize belong to their respective owners. **


	9. Chapter Eight

Chapter 8

_"For the true gambler, money is never an end in itself. It's a tool, like language or thought." (Lancey, The Cincinnati Kid)_

"Look at that. It's like it's under a perpetual black cloud. You can even see it at night." Clara commented as Race and her stared out of the window in awe of the city they were passing through. The weather was clear just outside the city; you could see the stars twinkling above them. But in the distance, beginning to dwindle into tiny pinpricks of light was the city of Pittsburgh under a very thick layer of smog.

Race chuckled, "Sounds like my friend Skittery. Hmmm, maybe he should live here."

Clara quirked an eyebrow at the odd comment but continued to watch as the train, now on the Pennsylvania, Fort Wayne and Chicago Railway headed towards Chicago, Illinois sped past the doom and gloom city. She had never been farther west than Newark and so she was finding this journey to be far more fun than she ever would have dreamed.

She'd admit, too, that the company wasn't nearly as bad as she had originally believed. Racetrack was quite likeable; funny with considerable wit, but also very observant and even thoughtful. Instead of finding a good card game in the dining car after dinner, like she had expected of the infamous gambler, he'd gone with her back to their compartment and they'd spent a lot of the time talking.

Smiling at a particularly amusing memory he'd been describing to her earlier about the newsboys being on strike and him offering to roll double or nothing with the judge, she turned away from the city that was diminishing into nothing but a dark spot against the midnight blue sky. It was getting rather late, the oil lamps on the car had been turned down a half hour ago and she found herself suddenly exhausted. Yawning, she leaned her head back.

"Race?" She asked, opening her eyes as a thought occur to her, "How did you and my brother become friends?"

He'd been looking out the window, his head tilted up slightly as if admiring the stars when she asked the question. For a moment, she wondered if he'd heard her. That is, until he turned his head so that his eyes met her own and she saw a small, contemplative look there. The expression caught her off guard and she felt a touch of guilt for interrupting his ponderings.

But, as always, he didn't seem the least bit put out, "We met at a poker game…in Queens."

Tilting her head inquiringly, she asked, "What happened to make you two friends?" Because, to her, it didn't seem enough that they'd simply played a game of cards and suddenly decided to spend so much time together.

He shrugged, "He tried ta pick-pocket me. Nicked one of my cigars."

Her jaw dropped, "He _stole_ from you and you became friends?"

It was quiet for a heartbeat, Race's brown eyes slid from hers back to the window where he replied, his tone a little stiff, "Reminded me of an old friend. Instead of soakin' him, I figured it would be easier to smartin' the kid up…lookin' back on it…probably shoulda soaked him."

"What's…'soaking'?" She asked curious in spite of herself. She actually could speak in three different languages but not one of them was street slang.

Racetrack let out a loud laugh, "Sorry, doll. It means ta rough someone up…ya know, beat 'em up a little?"

"Oh."

"Why don't ya get some sleep?" He asked eyes still on the view outside the window.

Nodding her agreement, she gave another yawn before pulling her jacket off to ball it up as a pillow. It wasn't going to be a good sleep, she knew; not with her corset, boots, garters and other under strappings on. She would make do, though. While she had lived in the lap of luxury, she could, given time to get used to whatever it was, adjust to her situation; just as she had adjusted to the idea of being a spinster after calling off her engagement with Henry.

At the very thought of her ex-fiancé, all the terrible feelings came flooding back to forefront and she closed her eyes as she turned on her side, her back to Racetrack as she fought the tears away. Even after three years, it still stung her pride at how she'd been duped.

Sighing, she wiggled in her seat until she found a comfortable position and slowly began to drift off.

_ She dreamt. It started off normal; she was in the front hall of her home as a knock echoed through the house giving it a very empty feeling. Slowly gliding forward, she reached out and turned the doorknob. _

_ Henry was standing in the doorway, looking much as he had the last time she'd seen him. Tall, blonde hair and blue eyed, he was a devil masquerading as an angel. He took a step inside, not waiting for an invitation she wouldn't have given as he smiled charmingly down at her. _

_ "Clara, my little dove." Henry said, using the endearment he had always used. That was how he worked, though, by using words of affection to deceive her; words that had, consequently, meant absolutely nothing._

_ Indignation tore through her, "How dare you." She replied hotly, pulling back her hand to give him a well deserved slap just as he suddenly morphed into someone else entirely. _

_ Abruptly, it wasn't Henry before her anymore, rather it was Racetrack. He didn't say a word, as Henry had, only leaned down as his arm snaked around her waist to pull her close as he pressed his lips to hers. The warm sensation of his lips, however, faded as the floor below her opened up and she felt that sudden drop in her stomach that told her she was falling, falling,-_

Clara landed on the floor of the compartment with a jarring, "Ooof!" as the air rushed from her lungs. Sucking in a breath, she glanced around disoriented as she found herself alone and on the floor. Glancing out the window, she decided she couldn't have been asleep long seeing how it was still dark out.

But that brought up the question as to where her companion had gone. Just as she began to rise, she realized she had a blanket…or to be more exact, a jacket. Race's jacket. Unbidden, she felt herself melt just a little bit at the small, thoughtful act.

Leaning forward, she pressed her nose to the collar of the coat and was greeted by a wonderful mix of cigar, man, and soap. She briefly wondered about that last smell before she became aware of what she was doing. Tossing the coat on his seat, she stood up and brushed out her skirts and moved towards the door. Perhaps he'd only gone to the washroom, or maybe he'd gone to smoke a cigar somewhere. Either way, she felt the need to search him out.

As she wandered down the hall, she gave herself time to think on the strange dream. It was funny how, when you were dreaming the things that had happened seemed so real and it wasn't until you thought about it later in the day, when you were awake, that you realized you'd floated instead of walked or that you had three arms instead of two. It seemed so _right_ in the dream that Race had kissed her, that she hadn't kissed Henry; a man she had once believed she'd always be kissing and more after they got married.

Of course, it was silly to think that she'd ever kiss Race again. That was, after all, her brother's best friend and a _gambler_ to boot. Just because she didn't truly believe those insults that she had thrown at him the other night-had it been just two nights ago?-didn't mean that there wasn't a small possibility they were true.

"Mrs. Higgins, what a surprise." A familiar and not at all welcomed voice once again broke her from her thoughts.

Clara pulled up short, and turned to see the homely face of Tom, the suspicious man who had been absent when she had went with Race to the dining hall that morning for breakfast, "Mr. Fuentes." She greeted unenthusiastically.

He was leaning against one of the windows, seemingly watching the dark scenery go by as the train sped westward, but he angled his body towards her as he addressed her, "A little late to be strolling around the train by yourself, don't you think?" he commented, his eerie blue eyes, such a contrast to his tanned skin, roving over her in a disconcerting way.

Clenching her teeth, she thought of a quick story, anything to get away from this strange man who seemed to have a talent for turning up when she least expected him, "My husband is fond of cards. I'm going to make sure he doesn't partake in them to excess." She gave what she hoped was an abashed smile that displayed her as a supportive but indulging spouse.

Tom smiled back but she noticed something forced about it as he raised the drink he had in his hand to her, "Give Race my best wishes in his game. I hope your husband wins you two more spending money, rather than losing it all."

"Thank you." She replied and hurried off towards the direction she knew to be the dining car. Her neck prickled as she went over the conversation in her head. Something about it had been off…slowly, she replayed the exchange. When that yielded no help, she thought back farther to their first meeting but whatever had unnerved her was proving to be most elusive.

Pushing open the door to the dining car, she scanned the room until her eyes rested on the familiar head, face, and shoulders of Racetrack Higgins. Her thoughts drifted from the discussion with Tom to annoyance as she took in the scene before her. Apparently, her story to Tom hadn't been far off the mark because Race was sitting at one of the tables with three other men, chewing on a cigar that balanced almost precariously from the corner of his mouth as he studied five cards in his hand.

Annoyance flashed to anger as she thought about going over there and confronting him for being a cardsharp and a rogue. He'd made it out that he didn't gamble like her brother, that he wasn't like those bullies that had roughed up her brother but he was one in the same. Thinking better of a confrontation, she searched the rest of the dining car before her eyes rested on another table where three more men had their own card game going.

Leveling her chin, she marched determinedly towards the table, "May I join?" She asked, aware that she was far removed from her element.

One of the men raised his snowy white eyebrow and cast a cursory glance at the others before taking in her expensive clothes, "Well, alright, m'am. If ya got the money, ya more than welcome to." Amusement danced in his eyes as she took a seat.

"I've got more than enough, boys." If poker meant so much to so many, Clara thought she ought to at least give it a try.

**A/N: Oh, man. What kind of trouble is Clara going to get into? (Fact: I've had a partial scene that'll be in the next chapter that was written since before I even had a plot to this story!) And what's the deal with Tom? Hmmm, you should all review to motivate me to get the next chapter out soon so you can find out!**

**Fun Fact: In the original plot of the story, I wanted to have a train robbery. Sadly, train robberies were more common out west and to trains carrying money, not passengers *sadface***

**Truly,**

**Joker is Poker with a J~**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize. Everything you DO recognize belong to their respective owners. **


	10. Chapter Nine

Chapter 9

_There's opportunity in poker... If Horace Greeley were alive today, his advice wouldn't be "Go West, young man, and grow up with the country." Instead, he'd point to that deck of cards on table and say, "Shuffle up and deal." (Lou Krieger_)

Race was so absorbed in his cards that he didn't realize the table had gone quiet for quite a few minutes. When it finally clicked, he glanced up to the man across from him and followed the guy's dark gaze to the table to the left and slightly behind him.

His cigar nearly fell out of his mouth as he stared at the familiar and lovely form of Clara Renwick as she sat down at a table with three other men and then he nearly choked as they dealt her in. What the hell was she doing? He wondered, throwing his cards onto the table. "I fold." He told them, though he felt a stab of regret to see the loss of such a good hand.

Ignoring the exhales of relief, he'd been having a wonderful streak of luck the last two hours; he headed straight towards the red-haired woman. "Clara." He said, stopping behind her and peering over her shoulder, "Whatya doin' up?"

Her hand wasn't half bad with an eight, a nine, a ten and Jack of clubs but he doubted she'd get a Queen or seven of clubs to finish with a straight flush. "I woke up." She told him, not looking up from her hand. She selected the diamond, passed it facedown to the dealer who put it under the deck and handed her back one.

"And decided ta play a game of pokah?" He asked, watching in fascination as she picked up the card.

At once, a smug grin spread across her face as she slip the seven of clubs in next to the eight and he shook his head as the men around the table stared at her. One by one, they folded. Her face fell as she set her cards down, took the meager pot and finally replied, "Well, you and my brother seem so interested in the game I wanted to give it a go for myself. I understand the basics of it." She added the last sentence in defense as the dealer shuffled and began to deal once more.

He leaned down so his mouth was close to her ear, "Ya might be a good player, sweetheart, if only ya pokah face wasn't so terrible."

She shivered, and he tried not to notice it. Taking a step back, he watched as she put in for the next hand and picked up her cards. Again, she was dealt a decent one, a straight, but he leaned forward to see that she was so concerned with trying to keep a good poker face that anyone could see she was trying entirely too hard to hide the fact that she had a good hand.

Except, she was so sure in the simple straight that when one of the men called the bet and raised the stakes a little bit she immediately matched it. Race inwardly winced as she put more money into the hand than he would have. He raised an eyebrow when she finally stopped; perhaps realizing that her hand might not be the best at the table from the determined way the man was playing.

Clara reluctantly folded, ending the small showdown. Race and she leaned forward simultaneously to see the man put down two pairs, nines and fours.

"You lied!" Clara exclaimed, looking perplexed as she handed her cards to the dealer.

"It's called bluffin', darlin'." The man replied, grinning to show a few gaps in his teeth.

Sympathetic to her loss, Race put a hand on her shoulder, "Clara…"

She glanced up at him, biting her lip with a look of unease for just a moment before that stubbornness entered her green eyes and she squared her shoulders. "One more hand." She told him.

The youngest man at the table, perhaps in his late twenties, chuckled as he looked between them. Race raised an eyebrow at him, but ignored him as Clara picked up her cards. He shot her a sidelong glance and was relieved to see she was keeping her face in a soft, neutral expression. Probably the only thing that would give her away was the way her eyes sparkled just so, but he was almost positive he was the only one to recognize it. It wasn't as good as her straight flush, but it was much better than the straight she'd lost a lot of money on.

She threw in for the pot, slipped the one card that was of no use to her to the dealer in exchange for another useless card before she watched as the older gentleman folded and she was left with a middle aged man and the younger one. Race squeezed her shoulder gently, willing her to keep that neutral face and to not let them bluff her.

The man who chuckled earlier raised the stakes a little, his steel grey eyes seeming to laugh at Clara as she also put in. Clenching his free hand into a fist, Race narrowed his eyes on the guy but stood silently behind her as the third man folded and it came down to the two of them.

"Another good hand, aye, princess?" He taunted as he raised the pot a second time. Clara didn't reply, only matched his raise.

It continued for a few minutes and Racetrack hid a smirk as he saw a bead of sweat run down the man's forehead. He was getting nervous and it was showing. Finally, when it looked as if Clara was out of money to keep going she leaned down and pulled a roll of one's out of her boot. "Can you match it?" She asked, putting a one in the center.

The anxious grey eyes widened at the money in her hand and then he tossed his cards down, "I fold."

Giving a delighted, "Whoop!" Clara tossed down her four Queens, stood and turned to Racetrack, "Did you see that? I won!"

She threw her arms around his stomach and he laughed, "Might wanna grab ya winnings, sweet." He told her, nodding at the table.

Releasing him, she turned to the table and began to collect her sizable pot in the middle of the table. Just as she was pulling her winnings closer, the gray-eyed man quickly reached out and grabbed her wrist, "Not so fast, princess."

Race reacted instantly, his own hand flying out to catch the man's arm, "Let her go." He told the man. Gray met brown as they stared each other down and then, unwillingly, the stranger let Clara's wrist go. Race ,however, did not let him go, "Apologize." He ordered.

The man sneered, "How do I know the lady didn't cheat?"

He tightened his grip on the man's wrist, "She _is_ a lady. You askin' that is questionin' her honor."

Clara put a light hand on his arm, "Race, come on. Let's go."

Glaring, Race slowly let his hand go but he pressed on, "Now, apologize."

Standing, the man flicked his light brown hair out of his eyes, "No. Three good hands in a row for a rookie is suspicious." His gaze flicked over the red-head, "Especially for a woman."

"Are you implying that women are inferior?" Clara suddenly spoke up, her face flushing. Race hid his smile; the man had unwittingly said the wrong thing. Clara was a headstrong woman and was firm in her belief of equality.

"I wasn't implyin', _m'am_." He said mockingly, "I was statin' a fact."

That made red hot anger course through Race because while he believed a woman should raise the children, he did not thing that women were inferior. He wanted a partnership when he married. Moving around the table, he pulled his arm back to throw a punch but was stopped by two small hands wrapping around his forearm, "No, Race!" Clara exclaimed, and he was surprised by how fast she had moved after him. "Fighting is _not_ the answer." She told him.

Slowly, he lowered his arm, "Ya right." He replied, but he didn't miss the sneer from the other man. As soon as Clara dropped her arms and stepped back with a look of relief, he pulled his arm back and punched the man. Clara shrieked in surprise as Race watched the man topple backward over his chair before hitting the floor with a satisfying _thud_, "Sorry, sweetheart." He told her as he turned back toward her and grabbed her upper arm to drag her out of the dining car, "That time fighting _was_ the answer."

He hauled her all the way to the compartment and was surprised when she didn't utter one word the entire time. As soon as he shut the door, he turned to face her wrath but was astonished as she burst into laughter. Her head was thrown back, her red hair cascading down her back as her peals of laughter filled the small room. Hesitantly, he let out a small chuckle but he didn't know what had brought on her sudden bout of mirth.

She took a deep breath as her laughter slowed into the occasional giggle and she walked towards him, putting her hands on his shoulder as she looked up at him under her lashes, her emerald eyes alive with merriment, "Oh, Race. Thank you."

"For what, sweetheart?" He asked, mesmerized by this woman who could be spitting mad one second and crowing with laughter the next. This stubborn, willful, kind and sweet female who could make him yearn to be a better man; one that she was capable of loving, but that only brought the bittersweet bite of reality with it. He could never be what she wanted; what she _needed_.

Her eyes continued to sparkle as she leaned forward on the tips of her toes, "For that excitement! That rush of exultation as I won the hand! I won at _poker_, Race! No wonder my brother and you play it. It was thrilling!" She laughed suddenly, "Oh, and when you punched that man!" Chortling, she dropped one of her hands to smother the laughter.

Race stared at her, caught between the glow of happiness he felt at making her happy and the sudden desire to kiss her. For an instant he held back but as she lowered her hand and gazed up at him, her mouth parted slightly and he couldn't fight it anymore, at least he didn't want to. Hesitantly, giving her time to pull back, he brought his head down to softly touch her lips with his own.

Her supple, sweet lips felt fantastic as she slid her arms around his neck and he placed his hands on her waist so he could pull her close. He let her scent, her very being, envelope him and his senses as he kissed her. The years hadn't changed the light lavender scent that hung around her or the warm vanilla undertones, she was still soft and she melted against him as no other girl ever had. She even kissed him back, as uninhibited as she had been that night and with as much fire as she put into everything else she did.

Groaning, he unwillingly drew his mouth from hers so that he could get his bearings. The desire for her was still rushing through his ears but he had to keep in mind that this was Clara, Scott's sister which meant she was off limits no matter how much he wanted to slowly unwrap her as if she were his very own gift. Clenching his teeth at the direction of his thoughts, he gently put his hands on her shoulder and pushed her away, "Why don't you get some sleep?" He suggested, not meeting her eyes as he recalled what he'd advised earlier-seemingly another lifetime ago.

He didn't miss the hurt that flashed through her green eyes but he pushed away the urge to pull her closer. She nodded and without another word she curled up on the small, padded seat. He didn't know what was going through her mind and was sure that her silence couldn't be good, but he hoped that he hadn't ruined whatever it was that had happened between them. Raking his hand through his hair, he sat down on the opposite seat and gazed out the window for a long time, trying not to remember but at the same time trying not to forget.

**A/N: Here's a little treat for you all! I couldn't stop writing this chapter, so as soon as I finished it and the lovely xxWickedWench beta read it for me I posted it! I'm so excited to hear what you all think! Please, please, please let me know! I love all the reviews I get and it would also be fabulous to hear from those who read and don't usually review! **

**Also, seeing how I was nominated (Oh, I was shocked and immensely flattered!) I think I should urge you all to go over to Pegasus M's Summer Reading List site and vote for me! The link is at the top of my profile! **

**Truly,**

**Joker is Poker with a J~**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize. Everything you DO recognize belong to their respective owners. **


	11. Chapter Ten

Chapter 10

_Poker is to cards and games what jazz is to music. It's this great American thing, born and bred here. We dig it because everybody can play. ~Steve Lipscomb_

Her arm was numb. For a while she tried to ignore the pins and needles indicating it had fallen asleep and now she had almost no feeling at all. It would be prudent, she mused, to turn over. Unfortunately, turning over would mean she'd have to face Race. Her face began to heat up as she recalled the kiss, his lips hot on hers as his hands rested on her waist; even through all the material, she had felt the heat of those large, masculine hands.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she banished the memory and steeled herself to turn over. As soon as she did, she opened her eyes to immediately meet those wide, brown eyes. He was lying on his seat, facing her and looking more exhausted than he had before going to sleep. She felt a stab of tenderness to him but at the same time she remembered how he'd pushed her away.

He dropped his eyes, searching for words to say and she waited patiently. Honestly, she didn't know how to handle the situation; it wasn't one she was familiar with. She wasn't necessarily angry with him because how could she be? She had just as readily kissed him back and he had pushed her away afterwards but she knew there had to be a good reason. Was he feeling guilty because of her brother or did he think he was going to ruin her reputation?

"We'll be there in an hour or so." Race finally said, hesitantly meeting her eyes.

Clara stared at him for a moment before slowly rising from the seat, "I need to use the washroom." She announced unnecessarily before flouncing out of the compartment. Hurrying along the corridor, she sighed in relief as she opened the door and locked herself inside. When she turned to face herself in the mirror she gasped at her reflection. How had he even wanted to _kiss_ her when she looked such a mess? Letting her vanity take control, she used quick, deft hands to run through her hair and finally pinned it up into a rather messy chignon. Satisfied with the result, she then moved to the small sink to scrub her face clean. When she was finished up in the small water closet, feeling refreshed and able to handle any situation, she stepped out.

"Funny, we keep running into each other." The smooth, slowly-becoming-familiar voice said, directly in front of her. She barely had time to catch herself from colliding into him.

She raised her eyes to meet his blue ones thinking, not for the first time, how odd it was that he had such azure eyes set in such an exotic face. Delicately, she raised one eyebrow, "I doubt, Mr. Fuentes that are meetings are purely coincidental."

A smile pulled the left corner of his mouth giving him a purely rakish look as he replied, most suavely, "Are you, Ms. Higgins, implying I am _following _you?"

Immediately, she caught what he'd done, "Mrs. Higgins, Mr. Fuentes. Don't forget that. And I am not implying anything. Just having reservations to the fact that you are always popping up wherever I am alone."

He inclined his head, "Quite right, _Mrs._ Higgins. I will leave you then. I do not want you to distrust a gentleman for trying to make an acquaintance on his tedious journey." Before she could utter another syllable, he had moved down the hall in long, loping strides.

Dumbfounded, she watched him go as a creeping sense of guilt clambered around inside her. She had _not_ acted as a Lady should. Always be gracious, kind and at the very least _civil_. Instead, Clara had practically called the man out for _stalking_ her for goodness' sakes! Sighing in annoyance she made her way back to the compartment and opened it up to find Race in a state of undress.

Well, he wasn't naked. His pants were done up except the top button, his suspenders hung to his knees, he only had socks on and he was in the process of doing up his shirt…and he wasn't far along in that process.

Freezing, she took in the sight of him without a thought. She drank in the sight of his hair ruffled in disarray, his pants hanging low on his hips although the shirt was tucked in but it was the expanse of his chest that was visible that caught her gaze for the most part. Heat rose up her cheeks as his own motions froze and he looked at her in surprise.

"Sorry, thought you'd take longah." Race said, breaking her out of her daze and not looking even a little ashamed of his nudity.

She knew her thoughts were making more of a deal out of his bareness than was necessary, but as a lady who had been sheltered all of her life she couldn't help the embarrassment, the naiveté, and even curiosity at the male in front of her. "Beg your pardon." She found herself murmuring as she stepped back out of the compartment and closed the door. Clara had barely been awake an hour and already she had insulted a gentlemen and walked in on one changing. This journey was not at all how she had thought it would be.

The opening of the door startled her from her thoughts and she turned as Race poked his head out. "Awright, I'm decent." He told her, his expression strangely smooth and unreadable.

Biting her lip for a brief moment, she nodded and followed him back in just as the train began to slow. Her gaze found the window and she watched as a station appeared not so far off and the city of Chicago stretched out before them.

It wasn't unlike New York. It was bustling, over-crowded, and had buildings as tall as any in her home city. The sight, however, was soon eclipsed by the train station as the vessel came to a screeching halt. Race looked impressed, "Wow. We're here." He seemed at a loss of words as he turned to get her luggage.

"You didn't bring a suitcase?" She wondered aloud, forgetting for a brief time the tension that had befallen them since the kiss.

He shook his head and held up a small sack, "Nah, I got this. Been with me since I went ta the lodgin' house."

She could definitely tell; the sorry-looking material bag was a myriad of greens and reds so old that they were faded to appear the same brown color. It was frayed in spots and, surprisingly, sown up in other spots. "Why don't you just buy a new one?" Clara asked, still staring at it.

Race rolled his eyes, the brown depths twinkling good naturedly as he replied, "You rich folk. Ya always think buying new things can replace the old."

"Don't they?" Now, she was confused.

He chuckled, "You can buy new things, but they don't have the memories with 'em."

She cocked her head to the side, realizing he was right. Wasn't that why she always wore the small silver cross around her neck? Because her mother and father had given it to her for her tenth birthday, informing her that it had been her grandmother's necklace; the only piece of jewelry besides her wedding ring that she had brought over from Ireland.

Without comment, she followed him off the train and through the mass of people waiting to the front of the station where they stepped out onto the sidewalk. Chicago was just waking up, the factories beginning to puff out smoke as people hurried to work on foot or rode on the trolley's that passed. The city was a bit dark with the smoke from the furnaces as people tried to stay warm and the streets echoed with the passing of carriages, the clop of the horse's shoed feet pounding around them like thunder.

"Isn't much different, is it?" She asked him as he set down her suitcase to rifle through his pockets for something.

"No, sweetheart. I suspect that's why Jack didn't move on ta Santa Fe." He replied as he pulled out a folded piece of paper.

She watched him as he scanned the letter. Racetrack really was a piece of work. She didn't think she'd ever met a friend more loyal than him. In just the last two days he was willing to go against a gang for her brother and travel all the way to Chicago for a friend he hadn't seen in years. "Where are we headed?" She asked as he folded it and thrust it back into his pocket.

"Four twenty-eight, south Holden Court."

They headed off in a random direction and didn't stop till they got to a small restaurant. "How about we stop here for breakfast and then I'll get directions?" Race suggested, his stomach growling loud enough for her to hear.

Clara laughed, "Alright." It seemed being in this new city alone together had effectively worn away the tension and awkwardness that had been hovering over them like a black cloud. He graciously held out his arm and she tucked her hand in it as they walked towards the diner.

Inside, they took a seat and ordered. Though she was content with letting things be the way they were, she was also curious about Race. "So, what are your plans when we get back to New York?" She asked interested in what he was going to do about Barker's.

"Why? Ya wanna go on a date?" He asked, his brown eyes looking lighter in the sunlight that was streaming through the window.

Rolling her eyes and ignoring the thrill that had traveled up her spine she replied, "No. I was wondering about your plan to see Barkers."

"Oh, that?" He asked, his eyes dropping to the silverware on the table, "That's all taken care of sweetheart."

She sat back, her brows furrowing, "You mean you already saw him?"

Racetrack shrugged, "Yeah. Ya got nothin' ta worry about."

"You paid him? My brother's safe?"

Annoyed, Race met her eyes, "Yes, Clara. I went Sunday after I tawked ta David about time off. Gave him the money Scott owed him."

Before she could reply, their food came and they began to eat in silence as she thought over this new information. So, was that what was in the letter Scott had gotten Monday morning? How had Race had the money to pay off Scott's debt? "Why didn't you tell me on the train?" She finally asked.

He shrugged again and she felt a spike of anger at that small, innocuous gesture, "Why's it matter?"

"Because I had a lot of needless worry, because I accused a man of stalking me and because you _should have told me_." She was angry now, her words frosty with anger.

She watched as a tick started in his jaw as they stared each other down, "You accused someone of stalking you?" He asked, still not answering her question.

"Yes. Poor Mr. Fuentes didn't know that _Racetrack Higgi-_" She cut herself off in mid sentence as it occurred to her what had bothered her about Tom the night of the poker game. Sitting back, she stared down at her now empty plate, unaware of the sudden stormy look that passed over Race's face.

"Mr. Fuentes?" He asked his tone chilly.

But, she was lost in the sudden epiphany that not once had she told Tom Race's name and yet, last night he'd clearly said to her, _"Give Race my best wishes…"_ Stunned by this, she slowly raised her gaze to meet his, "Do you know a Tomas Fuentes?"

Race's brown eyes were so dark it was almost impossible to tell where the pupil ended and the iris began, "No. But, I know a Carlos Fuentes. Six years ago he murdered my friend Snipeshooter."

**A/N: I thought Jack would be in this chapter (I honestly planned on it) but my characters definitely have a mind of their own. I guess they believed it was time to talk about Tom/Carlos. So, what do you all think of that last sentence? Haha, please let me know what you think in a REVIEW!**

**Truly,**

**Joker is Poker with a J~**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize. Everything you DO recognize belong to their respective owners. **


	12. Chapter Eleven

Chapter 11

"_I use to roll the dice, watch the fear in my enemy's eyes." Viva La Vida by Coldplay_

**Queens, New York. Winter of 1899.**

Racetrack Higgins had loved gambling. Every type of it; craps, poker, coin tosses, fights, horse races, dog races, any of it was his type of game. He had enjoyed the build up to winning-or losing-and he had been addicted to the sheer rush it offered him. Nothing in his life could compare to a day at the tracks. He was as passionate about gambling as an artist was about his work, or as a writer about their novel. It was his love in every sense of the word.

The only one in the lodging house who seemed to care even a little bit about Race's passion of gambling was Snipeshooter. Just a kid of fifteen, Snipes was as wild as any other orphan on the street. But, where the other boys looked up to Davey and Jack, Snipes looked up to Race. Often times, Race hung out with him just to feel like a hero to someone. It was almost as good a rush as the racetrack.

Of course, Race got annoyed when he stole his cigars and when he tried to tag along to Sheepshead but when he thought about it later he knew that if he had a little brother, he'd want him to be just like Snipes.

It was because of that soft spot for the kid that Race decided to take him to Queens on Christmas Eve that year. The newsies had been given Christmas day off and Race saw the perfect opportunity to sleep in after a night spent gambling. By chance, he ran into Snipes as the kid was coming into the lodging house and he was leaving.

"Hey, Race? Where ya off to?" Snipes asked, giving Race the hero-worshipping look that he didn't often get from anyone else.

Race took a drag of his cigar before replying, "Off ta a good ol' game of pokah, kid." He had ruffled the kids' brown hair and proceeded to leave, the breeze swirling snow down Duane street mussing his own black hair.

"Wait!"

He turned back and raised an eyebrow, "Whatsamattah?" He asked, continuing to walk backwards despite the people crowding the sidewalks.

"Take me with you!" Snipes had asked, following Race with brown eyes wide and hopeful.

For a brief moment he thought of the game two weeks ago in the Bronx where he'd lost a lot of money he didn't have to a man he'd never met before named Barkers. Barker's seemed the crazy type but Race hadn't seen any suspicious goons hanging around lately. Although, he had been laying low, albeit for an entirely different reason; it seemed Moria hadn't gotten the hint that they were over.

Grimacing at the thought of her, he spoke without thinking, "Shoah, kid. A night of gambling will do ya a bit of good."

He'd later regret that statement because there was no good that would come of that night. It would be the night that would forever change him.

As soon as they had reached the warehouse where the game would be held, Carlos had been waiting outside, his black clad body blending in with the shadows of the night that had fallen on their walk through Manhattan and Brooklyn. "Tony Higgins." He'd greeted, pulling away from the darkness.

Not long before Race had become a newsie, Carlos Fuentes had been a childhood friend. They had lived in the same building, had been cared for by Race's mother while Carlos' single mother worked to keep a roof over their head and they had been best friends. After Race had been orphaned, he had stayed with Carlos until pneumonia had taken his mother as well. But, where Race had joined the newsies, Carlos had joined a gang.

They hadn't seen each other for some odd years but Race knew what had become of his friend. Carlos had become a sort of skiptracer, someone who was hired to find people for various reasons.

A cold flood of fear washed over Race as he stared at his old friend. From his memories, he could still picture that familiar face much younger and laughing; the little boy who had loved his mother more than anyone in the world, who'd die to protect her. She had been a Spanish beauty who had been misled by an Englishman; she had followed him, pregnant, to America with the promise of marriage. The moment they hit land, he'd disappeared and she had raised her baby on her own, cut off from her own family because of the scandal.

"Carlos." Race had replied, tossing his cigar butt into the alley, "Whatya say?"

The blue eyes studied him, looking eerie in the dim street light. "I just want you to know I don't take pleasure in this. You know what I'm here for. Barkers wants his money."

"Race?" Snipeshooter spoke, looking uneasy and awkward next to him.

Race found himself mussing the kid's head, a gesture that was suppose to comfort but seemed to make it worse, "I got this, Snipe." Only, he knew he _didn't_ and there was no way out of the situation. Unless he asked Carlos a favor, "Carlos, look, Ise don't have the money now but if you could give me…two weeks? I'll come up with it."

Carlos steeled himself, "I'm sorry, Race. I can't do that. It's money or blood now. Barkers is angry you've been undah the radar for this long." He shifted so Race could get a good look at the pistol in his right hand, a grim look on his face.

The Italian and the Spaniard's eyes met. Carlos had given him this long, he'd always known Race was a newsie and where to find him, Race could see it in his eyes. He was a skiptracer for a reason-he was excellent at it. No one could keep away from him for two weeks if he hadn't let that much time elapse. Briefly, he wondered if it had hurt his old friend to give him so long. Unfortunately, he had his own problems to deal with. "What if I give ya what I have now? And then…then once I get the rest I'll give it to him?"

The skiptracer's jaw ticked as he clenched his teeth, thinking over the deal, "How much ya have?"

As Race dug in his pocket for the money he'd been saving, Snipes made a move towards Carlos and the events that happened would haunt him for the rest of his life. Instinctively, Carlos brought up the hand holding the gun as his finger squeezed the trigger. Race would probably never know what went through his childhood friend's mind as Snipeshooter pulled up short, eyes widening in realization as the bullet hurtled through the still air before ripping into him.

It happened in a split second, Race's hand still in his pocket as Snipes prone figure fell to the ground, blood already soaking his gray shirt. He pulled his hand out of his pocket, the money clenched in his fist as he ran the short distance to the fallen fifteen year old.

A strange sound tore through the night and Race recognized it was coming from him; a sob containing a deep grief as he looked upon the pale face of his little brother. "Snipes!" He murmured urgently as he lightly patted the boys' cheek as the hot tears coursed down his face.

Snipeshooter opened his brown eyes with great effort and with equal effort opened his mouth. He coughed, a trickle of blood escaping his lips.

"No." Race moaned, but he knew a life-threatening injury when he saw one.

He held the boy there for as long as it took for his life to steal away. When Snipes was silent and still, looking oddly peaceful despite the sudden end to his short life, Race turned an angry glower on Carlos. Wordlessly, he stood as his eyes met this stranger he no longer recognized, "Here. You've got your blood and your money. Tell Barkers we're even."

Tossing the money on the ground at the dark haired boy's feet, Race turned and scooped up the cold body of the one person who had always looked up to him, the person who had accepted him and trusted him implicitly. The person he had failed.

* * *

><p>Racetrack met Clara's horrorstricken gaze across the table as he pulled out the money to pay for their meal. "I don't gamble big anymore, sweetheart. No good comes of it. I'm far from the person I use to be because I paid that debt with the blood of an innocent."<p>

Clara slowly shook her head, "But you couldn't have known. You can't blame yourself." She moved to rest her hand on his arm but stopped herself as he stood.

She mimicked him but he replied in a tone that was overflowing with bitterness, "It _was_ my fault. My gambling, my debt and my decision ta let him come with me; everything I did led straight ta his death."

Without letting her defend him, he turned and stalked away from her determined to get directions and find Jack.

* * *

><p>Carlos Fuentes could see from his vantage point on a second story fire escape across the street that the couple had gotten into a small quarrel. He watched as Racetrack asked her a question, and then proceeded to tell her something that was of some significance. He wondered if she had finally said something to him about the mysterious Tom Fuentes she kept meeting, but he couldn't be entirely sure. At least, she hadn't told him while they were on the train. If she had, Race would have searched the entire coach for him. Just because he hadn't had the opportunity to kill Carlos seven years ago didn't mean he wouldn't take a shot at it if he saw him now.<p>

Conflicting emotions battled inside him as he watched them, hating Racetrack Higgins for things the Italian couldn't possibly control and guilt at events which had happened in their shared past. Despite the fact that he'd gone against orders from his employer, he'd given the girl all the information to forewarn him. If Race didn't see what was going on there was no more Carlos could do without risking his payment; that was something he was not inclined to do, regardless of the debt he owed to the other man.

He didn't miss the way Race leaned towards her, telling her something soft and quietly for a long time. When Race was finally finished, he pulled out the money to pay for their food and Carlos watched like a hawk as the couple got up from their booth. Race disappeared first before Clara slowly followed him. For a few minutes more he continued to lean his elbows on the frozen railing, ignoring the cold that was creeping into his bones as he strained to catch a glimpse of them. Just as he was beginning to grow impatient, the two exited the restaurant with a scrap of paper. Undoubtedly, it held the directions to their destination. Gracefully, he swung down the ladder of the fire escape and climbed swiftly down as they made a right towards the very heart of Chicago, the skiptracer not far behind.

**A/N: I apologize for the late update. It's that part of the semester where my profs are trying to slowly smother me in large piles of work. However, I have managed to get myself out and complete this chapter! Yay! Jack will DEFINITELY be in the next chapter. I'm so excited. There is still more mystery afoot****! Teehee, thank you all who have reviewed and those who are reading! Please, drop me a review and tell me what you thought of this chapter!**

**Truly,**

**Joker is Poker with a J~**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize. Everything you DO recognize belong to their respective owners. **


	13. Chapter Twelve

Chapter 12

_No wife can endure a gambling husband, unless he is a steady winner. ~Thomas Robert Dewar_

The journey to Holden Court was silent, each absorbed in their thoughts. He couldn't begin to wonder how Clara was taking the story he'd never told anyone else in full. When he had gotten back to the lodging house with Snipes body, all he had ever shared was that it had been an accident during a small fight they had gotten into. At the time he had argued that he was going to live with the guilt anyway so whether they knew the full story and blamed him really did not matter.

Besides, it had already killed a bit of him to admit it was his fault; he didn't need others' opinions to prove him right.

"Racetrack." Clara's soft voice brought him out of his dismal thoughts and he followed her gaze to the street sign hanging above their heads. Holden Court.

His stomach rolled with nerves, although he couldn't pinpoint why. Was it because he was seeing an old friend after so many years? Or was it because he didn't quite know in what condition Jack would be in when they came upon him? His gaze found Clara's bright green eyes and he held them for a moment, memories of their kiss some odd years ago followed by last night. Stomach giving another flop, he broke the contact and turned down the street without a word.

Several minutes later, he spoke, "Here we are." The building wasn't in terrible condition, though it was by no means perfect. The majority of the windows were caked with dirt and snow while the corner bricks were showing signs of wear being chipped and in some parts even decaying. Race raised his hand to open the front door, which was peeling, cracked and sorely in need of a new paint job. As soon as he stepped inside, his attention was caught by a girl walking by with a basket of laundry.

She froze and gave him an askance look as Clara stepped in beside him, "Can I help you?" She asked politely, flicking a blonde lock out of her green eyes.

Race glanced around, "Are you Sophie? I'm here about Jack Kelly. My names Ra-"

The moment Jack's name had escaped his lips, Sophie had moved into action, setting the basket down and coming for him with a large smile, "Racetrack!" She exclaimed before he could even get his name out, "Why, I ought to have known!" She reached him and held out her hand, "I'm Sophie and oh, he's going to be so happy. He didn't think you would come…" She trailed off and then her gaze slid to Clara, "Is this your…wife?"

Remembering the charade they were keeping up, Race reached for Clara's hand, "Yes, this is Clara Higgins."

"Nice to meet you." Clara told the woman, pleasantly.

Sophie inclined her head before turning back to Race, "Hang on one moment while I put this in my apartment and I'll take you right up to see Jack." She picked up her basket and hurried away.

Race raised an eyebrow at Clara, who stood in the entrance looking rather awkward and out of place. He felt a flash of protectiveness and took his hand from hers to put it around her shoulder to pull her against his side. "You awright?" He asked.

She nodded before saying in a low tone, "I just got the feeling she didn't like me."

It was the first time he'd ever seen her look truly vulnerable but when he opened his mouth to reassure her, Sophie reappeared, "I'll take you up to him." She told them, though she looked at Race and ignored Clara.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Clara bite her lip. Dropping his arm from around her shoulder he took her hand once again and squeezed it lightly before gently pulling her along behind Sophie as they ascended the stairs. They climbed up three floors and turned down the hallway to the last door on the left. Race's stomach flipped as Sophie raised her fist and rapped on the door.

There was movement inside, a shuffle of feet a second before the door opened and there in the doorway stood Jack Kelly.

He'd let his hair grow longer and it was obvious he hadn't shaved in a few days, although he was dressed and looking presentable. Under his hazel eyes were dark, purple bruises; proof he hadn't been sleeping well. But, the most shocking difference from the face Race had from his memories of Jack was the thick, silvery scar that cut down his left cheek from right below his eye down to his chin.

"Race," Jack said, his eyes widening in wonder, "I didn't think you'd come." His voice was deeper, gruffer.

"'Course I'd come, Jack." Race replied, smiling.

For a moment, Jack hesitated before he moved to the side and invited them in. Sophie smiled at him, "I have laundry to do." Was her answer to his invitation and hurried away to give them privacy.

Jack's gaze fell on Clara as he shut the door, "Jack Kelly, miss." He gave a small incline of his head.

"Clara Renwick." She greeted in turn, giving him a small smile.

"She's my friend's sister. She insisted on coming, but if anyone asks she's my wife." Race explained as they took a seat around the small table that was in the corner of the apartment. There wasn't too much to the place; a bed, a small open kitchen and to the left of the front door a small water closet.

Nodding his head, Jack accepted the explanation before he took a breath and asked, "So, ya able ta take me back ta New York?"

Race smiled, "Wouldn'ta come othahwise, Jack."

The relief was plain on his face, "Ta be honest, Race, I didn't think ya'd come…but, I'm glad ya did…" He paused and took a long look at the gambler, "So, whatya been up to?"

Clara stood up and excused herself to the water closet as Race began to tell Jack about working at Dave's hotel, about Scott, Mush and Blink. Jack listened intently, smiling when Race mentioned David's crazy work schedule and asking about other ex-newsies they had known.

"Spot's got a kid on the way. Wicked and him married not too long aftah ya left and he works on the dock's in Brooklyn. Skittery's been livin' in Harlem, working as a waiter." Jack laughed at that, imagining the ill-tempered boy working with customer's day in and day out, "Dutchy went upstate, Swifty got a job lighting the lanterns and Boots is driving carriages. I see him from time to time on my way ta work." Race paused and met Jack's gaze, "Ya don't look great, Jack."

A rueful smile quirked up the corners of his mouth, "It's been more difficult than I thought it'd be, Race."

Both looked up as Clara came out and she gave a shy smile, "Don't mind me." She moved away from them, towards the window to give them privacy.

"How's…Sarah?" Jack finally asked, not meeting Racetrack's gaze.

He quirked an eyebrow, but answered the soft question, "She's awright. Has a couple kids to a baker in lower Manhattan. Brings them inta the hotel ta visit Davey every so often."

Jack's jaw ticked, "When are we leavin'?" He asked abruptly.

Race studied his face, "That ready ta leave Chicago?"

"You have no idea." Jack murmured.

The Italian's gaze slid from Jack to Clara, whose back was to them as she stood near the bed, looking at something on the table beside it. She moved away unexpectedly and turned back to the window.

Jack followed Race's gaze to Clara, "Ya think it's been so long I don't know ya, Race?" He asked, keeping his voice low so she couldn't hear their conversation.

"Yeah, Jack." Race replied, acknowledging the sudden seriousness of their conversation. He knew he'd changed; he wasn't the same kid that Jack remembered from the strike.

"Well, ya wrong. I know ya 'cause I know me. We grew up tagethah, Race. Ya reachin' foah the same things I've been reaching for. Funny thing is, ya closah and I've been trying ta grab at it since before the strike."

Race rolled his eyes, "What's that Jack?" It was easier to pretend he wasn't taking Jack serious than recognize that maybe Jack was close to something that could build or break him.

The Cowboy, as much the same carefree person he used to be as Racetrack was the same gambler, met his gaze with bleak, brown eyes, "Family, Race. It's what every orphan like us is reachin' for. I had a chance, I blew it. I'm not goin' ta blow it again." There was a promise in that last sentence, a determined set to his jaw as he looked away from his friend.

He stood, suddenly breaking off their conversation as he strode past Clara to the bed. He picked up something, a letter from the looks of it, and stared at it before folding it up and putting it in his breast pocket. Race watched as he bent down to pull out a suitcase beneath the bed. Even though he hadn't thought Race would come, he had hoped, and it had been enough for him to pack his suitcase.

"All ready." Jack said, standing tall and confident in the center of the apartment. For a moment, Race could see the younger Jack, the leader of the strike and the boy who had dreamed of going out west, in front of him.

Eyes on Jack 'the Cowboy' Kelly, Race was tempted to ask what had happened with Sarah, what David and he had fought about and what was in the mysterious letter that was tucked in his breast pocket, next to his heart.

What was so important that he would ignore his pride and take the help Race was offering him? What was waiting for Jack in New York?

**A/N: Thoughts? Leave them in a review!**

**Truly,**

**Joker is Poker with a J~**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize. Everything you DO recognize belong to their respective owners. **


	14. Chapter Thirteen

Chapter 13

_"A racehorse is an animal that can take several thousand people for a ride at the same time."  
>Author Unknown<em>

They didn't linger long on the crowded Chicago streets. Clara and Race were eager to leave, in hopes that they had lost Carlos; Jack's reason was altogether different. Silently, she commended him and the determined set of his jaw. She had only caught certain things from the letter that had lain on his bedside table but it was enough for her to understand the situation.

Although she didn't think him nearly as handsome as Race, she did like Jack. Even though she had barely known him an hour she was confident in Racetrack's trust in him; if he would travel halfway across the country for this friend then Jack was worth it. Funny, how it just a few short days she had come to trust Race. Of course, that was the direct effect of getting to know him; something she didn't think would have happened had they stayed in New York. Race, like any other human being, was complicated and contradictory. He had loved gambling, he still gambled, but now, after a terrible accident, he didn't let it control his life.

For awhile after her broken engagement, she'd moped around with an aching heart, a hurt pride but she had grown steadily stronger from that experience. Instead of succumbing to the pressures of society, to get married and live in a faithless marriage for the sake of convenience, she had snubbed her nose at them all and contented herself with the life of a spinster. At least she could make her own decisions then, be independent and not sell herself to a weak man who would squander her family's money.

In the meantime, she had set her sights on the Orphanage in Brooklyn that she sponsored. It had taken up much of her time and consequently, her heart. The ragtag group of forty or so girls had quickly wormed their way passed her defenses and she knew that if they could live through hell and still smile each day so could she.

She smiled to herself as they neared the Dearborn train station, eager to return home and see her girls. "I'm gonna hit the gentleman's room." Race's voice broke through her thoughts and she smiled at him as he turned and walked away. Just as suddenly as the eagerness came, it began to ebb away as she thought about how she wouldn't be spending so much time with Racetrack anymore. A blossom of sadness spread through her and she was taken aback by how strong it was.

Without really knowing she was doing it, she watched his retreating form until a clearing of throat brought her back to where she stood with Jack. Her cheeks grew red and she shot him a sidelong glance to see if he'd noticed her staring and was relieved to note he was looking politely away. A sudden thought occur to her and she wondered how she should bring it up. "Jack?" She asked, turning her head so she could face him directly.

His brown eyes, not nearly as warm and soft as Race's, met her gaze expectantly. Hesitating only a second, a touch intimidated by the scar that ran down his cheek, she blurted out, "Did I do something to Sophie? That is, why did she seem to…dislike me?"

A chuckle escaped him and took her aback as his eyes slid away from hers to the direction Race went before he replied, "I tawked a lot ta Sophie while I was…drunk ta say the least." He lifted a sardonic eyebrow at her as he turned his eyes back on her, "I think Sophie was a little bit in love with him, from what I told her of him. Guess she didn't expect him to come here with a wife." Jack smiled and it pulled the scar back so that it looked comical.

Clara smiled in reply but it was forced. Her eyes slipped from his and, unbidden, sought Race's in the slightly crowded terminal. It didn't take her long at all seeing as he already had his eyes on her as he made a beeline for them. He looked a little disgruntled, as if seeing them smile at each other bothered him, but she couldn't be sure that was the reason.

As he stopped in front of them, Jack asked, "Hey, Race? I was wonderin', how's Medda? Ya see her lately?"

A look crossed Race's face that instantly sent Clara on edge as she wondered who this Medda woman was. "She's doin' good. Retired two years ago, now she helps train the youngah girls and runs the theatah."

Jack smiled as they headed towards the platform to wait for their train bound for Pittsburgh and then back home to New York. "That's good. I'll have ta visit her." He paused to explain to Clara, "Medda was a friend of my father's and use ta be a Vaudeville performer at Irving Hall. Race loved watching her shows." For a moment she thought that was all he would say on the matter before he added, almost to no one in particular, "Race always did like redheads."

Clara felt another blush rise in her cheeks as she shot a sidelong glance to see Race's expression wasn't unlike her own. His eyes met hers for a brief second and a fizzle of electricity seemed to charge the air between them until she dropped her gaze and took a seat on a nearby bench. Race murmured something to Jack before setting her suitcase next to the man and joining her on the bench, "Hey."

"Hi." She replied, rather lamely. She was acutely aware that things between them had been tenuous at best since the very moment they met. When it came to Racetrack Higgins, things never seemed simple.

She watched him run a hand through his inky, black hair, "Look, sweetheart, I'm sorry."

Surprised, she met his eyes, "For what?"

Equally bewildered, he answered, "For not tellin' ya I thought I'd dealt with Barkers. I undahstand I caused ya ta worry."

"Oh. Oh, Race." She laughed, "I completely forgot about that. Between Carlos and Jack…Thank you. I accept. I…shouldn't have gotten so upset with you. You are always looking out for Scott."

He looked relieved, "Good. I didn't want ya mad at me anymore."

"Can I just ask you something? Why do you think Carlos was on the train?" She glanced around, as if just saying his name would summon him.

Race nodded, his brows furrowing together, "I have an idea but I'm not entirely sure. Perhaps, when I paid Barkers Sunday, he took that and put it towards my debt to him and voided the blood paid by Snipes. Which would mean Scott still owes him."

Her eyes widened, "How can he do that?"

As he opened his mouth to answer, a shrill whistle split through the air and a train pulled up. A Platform Guard called out their train. He stood and held out his hand to help her up. Clara smiled gratefully and slipped her hand in his.

"He's making the rules, sweetheart." Race finally answered her a little while later as he handed her onto the train.

Clara waited patiently as Race and Jack got on and followed them to an open compartment. They chatted as they got comfortable, Clara and Race on one side as Jack sat facing them. "It's gonna be a cramped ride." Race commented, as the train pulled away from the station.

Jack sighed, his eyes lingering on the city that was fast falling away. Clara studied him, wondering if he was aware of the enormous change that his life was about to take. She almost envied him, her life up until four days ago had been rather dull. Race had been the spark to the flame of the sudden turnaround of her life.

The majority of the day, Jack and Race continued to talk about people they had known, things that had changed and memories they shared of the strike. Clara listened most of the time, enjoying the kinship the two shared and otherwise learning a lot just by the actions of these two. Jack was very much the leader type, quick to think of a strategy and put it to work with varying results. From what she'd heard, he'd gotten in a quarrel with David, Race's boss, and had left New York shortly after; a plan he'd played with for quite a few years before finally caring out. Unfortunately, he hadn't gotten farther than Chicago and had been there ever since.

Race, on the other hand, was more relaxed. He took what he was given and made the best of it. He'd used his ties to David to get his job at the Hotel, which earned him a good and respectable living. His loyalty to his friends was commendable and Clara was surprised that he hadn't let the hardships of life completely overwhelm him. She could see where it had worn him down, in the lines on his face and the slight tension of his shoulders, but he wasn't nearly as jaded as Jack seemed to be. Jack was quick to smile at something Race said, but just as quick to let the smile go. His expression was more often brooding compared to the Italians' open, laughing one.

Clara shook her head as she realized she'd been comparing the two men, growing ever more in favor of Race without understanding why she was doing it. She stood up, needing a breather from this obsession with her brother's _best friend_ or so she had to remind herself, "I'm going to go stretch my legs. Excuse me."

"Do you need me ta come with you?" Race asked meaningfully and it took her a moment to comprehend that he was talking about Carlos.

She shook her head, "Oh, no. I'll be fine." Even if Carlos _was_ on the train, he'd never hurt her before.

Race narrowed his eyes, looking uneasy, but he nodded and she stepped out. She supposed he was going to talk to Jack about what was in that letter, or else he'd probably be more concerned for her. Easily, she walked along the main aisle, moving with the train as it rolled along the tracks. At one of the windows, she stopped to peer out at the sunset; admiring the deep pinks and gold's that colored the clouds on the horizon as the landscape slowly fell under the shadow of night.

For a moment, she was breathless with the wonder of it. Just as she thought about going back to the compartment to see if Race wanted to see it, she became aware of a presence behind her.

"Shhh." Came a voice right next to her ear as a hand snaked up and clamped down on her mouth. Frantically, she struggled as he wrapped his arm around her middle and dragged her into the nearest compartment.

**A/N: Merry Christmas! I hope you all enjoy this chapter! Review!**

**Truly,**

**Joker is Poker with a J~**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize. Everything you DO recognize belong to their respective owners. **


	15. Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fourteen

_"Money won is twice as sweet as money earned." (Paul Newman in "The Color of Money")_

Clara was tossed unceremoniously onto the seat as her attacker moved to shut the compartment door and pull down the blinds. While his back was turned, she quickly righted herself, stood and moved to jump on him just as he whirled back around.

Instantly, his hands went up in a defense position and he murmured, "Woah, calm down. Let me explain."

His tone was that of a stable hand calming a wild horse and it only irritated her more, "What the _hell_ are you playing at?" She demanded, wondering if she should scream; would anyone hear her, much less care?

Carlos's blue eyes were trained on her, waiting for any sign of her bolting or screaming, before he slowly straightened, "I'm sorry I had ta grab ya like that. But I didn't think ya'd come if I asked politely."

She had never been in a fight, much less know how to throw a punch, but she couldn't exactly let him kidnap her. Her very being was crying out for her to _fight_ this situation. Without thinking her plan entirely through, or weighing the chances that she, a woman barely scraping five feet, could take down a full grown man who was a foot taller, she flung herself at him.

While the spontaneous move surprised him, it wasn't enough for her. He'd undoubtedly been in his fair share of fights and easily overtook her. Flipping her effortlessly off him and pinning her to the floor, he quirked an eyebrow as he asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "And I thought this would be easy."

"Get off you big bully!" She struggled against him and he rolled his eyes and tightened his grip on her shoulders.

"Stop, Clara. Stop. Oof!" He groaned as her knee came up between them and got him right where it hurt. Rolling off of her, he winced as he recovered from her abuse all the while trying to talk to her, "Would you just _listen_?" He demanded, although his voice was just about breathless.

By that point she'd scrambled up and had hurried to the door. But, at this request her curiosity won over her instinct to flee and she slowly turned to find him sitting on the floor. He watched her wearily, as if expecting another attack.

She nibbled on her lip for a brief moment, wondering what Race would have done before she straightened her spine, "Alright. You have one minute to explain to me why you dragged me in here."

Carlos raised an eyebrow, "Well, it might take a little more time than one minute."

"Fifty seconds."

He laughed which was completely at odds with the entire situation, at least in Clara's opinion. "Alright, alright. I brought you here because…I want to help Race but I need your help."

That gave her pause and she studied him for a long time, taking in his charcoal grey trousers, shoes that could use a little shining, and his matching jacket with the white undershirt. Plain, every day clothes to blend in with the people around him. Add to the clothes a short, clean haircut and he was as easily overlooked as a pebble on the sidewalk.

"I'm listening." She finally replied, taking a seat as close to the door as possible, "But if you try to grab me again or hold me for ransom I will not stop fighting you."

He gave her a grin, "I hadn't imagined you would."

* * *

><p>Race sat back, surprised at the story of Jack and David's fight, the journey to Santa Fe that ended in Chicago with a scar and now, after all these years, the reason he needed to go back. The contents of that letter the only thing in the world that would have brought Jack Kelly back to New York City.<p>

He believed it all, Jack didn't have a reason to lie and the story hadn't made him out to be the best person in the world, so it could only be the truth. "Well, you'll need a place to stay while you find her and get on ya feet. I have a cot that Mush used ta crash on but he moved into his own place a few weeks ago."

Jack nodded, looking relieved, "Thanks, Race. Ya really came through foah me. I don't know what I'd have done if Sophie hadn't written to you."

Waving away the thanks, Race looked out the window, "It's gettin' late, why don't ya get a little shudeye. We'll be New York by tomorrow evenin'."

The Cowboy nodded and laid down on the tiny bench, his long limbs stretched as far as they could go which wasn't very far. Just as he lowered his cowboy hat onto his face, he picked it back up, "Where's Clara?"

Racetrack shrugged, having realized this even before he'd invited Jack to stay at his place and had been sitting with a ball of lead in his stomach the entire time. She should have been back by now. He stood up, suddenly panicked as scenario after scenario played through his head. A gang could have gotten her, or Carlos or a rich, suave guy…

The compartment door slid open and Clara slipped inside giving him a bright smile as she shut the door behind her, "Hello."

"Where have you been? I was getting worried." Race's heart was beginning to slow from the anxiety he had experienced in just that minute where she'd been gone and now he could see clearly that she was fine and intact. He took a breath as she raised an eyebrow at him, stole a glance at Jack, who had surreptitiously put his hat back over his face and pretended sleep, before facing her once more, expectantly.

"Doing what I said I was going to do, walking around to stretch my legs." She paused before her green eyes got bright and she stepped closer to him to put her hand on his arm, "Oh, and Race! I saw a beautiful sunset from the one window. There are never sunsets like it in New York."

The happiness that danced in her eyes pulled him up short and he found that he couldn't even be a little miffed about her long absence. "Yeah?" He asked, unable to hide the smile that answered hers.

She nodded and took a seat, "Yes." It was quiet for a moment between them, both caught up in looking at each other as if they hadn't seen one another in a long time. Race's mind was running on replay, remembering the heated kiss they shared not too long ago on the train bound for Chicago. The only difference was this time he couldn't even keep in mind the reasons why he shouldn't be kissing her.

"Come lay down." She finally said breaking the silence between them and drawing him back into the present.

"But, there's not enough room foah both of us." He pointed out, moving to lie down even as he spoke; he suddenly felt exhausted.

Clara scooted to the far end, "Put your head on my lap." When he did, she brushed a piece of his dark hair off his forehead, "You look like death warmed over."

He rolled his eyes, "Thanks, sweetheaht." He replied sarcastically.

Her soft laughter made him smile and he felt his eyelids start to grow heavy. Just as he began to drop off into sleep he realized that these last few days were the longest he'd spent with a woman without picking out habits he disliked in her. The more he thought about it, he realized that everything he'd thought about her had been what he _liked_ about her instead of the other way around.

For once he wasn't thinking of reasons not to be with a woman, but reasons they should be together.

**A/N: Well, you all hate me don't you? I have resolved absolutely nothing and left you all in the dark. Don't worry, that's how I planned it. When I do resolve it, it'll be all at once and you guys will be cheering on your seats! Sorry for the delay getting this chapter up. Please review and tell me what you think?**

**Truly,**

**Joker is Poker with a J~**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize. Everything you DO recognize belong to their respective owners. **


	16. Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Fifteen

_If you're playing a poker game and you look around the table and can't tell who the sucker is, it's you. -Paul Newman_

Soft, early morning light filtered through the window and Race couldn't ignore it any longer, try as he might. Giving one last sigh at lost sleep the light had afforded him; he opened his eyes and took in his surroundings. Directly above him was Clara, fast asleep in a sitting position, her head lolling with the rhythm of the train. Her right arm was resting on his chest, her left hand tangled in his hair and his stomach did a strange somersault as he realized that he'd gotten his best sleep on this train so far with his head on her lap.

Her soft lips were slightly parted and he had to fight the urge to kiss her awake. However, he didn't even try to fight the urge to brush a lock of her fiery, red hair from her face. He silently marveled at how soft it was.

The softest sound of a throat clearing brought him to the here and now. Race froze, remembering that they had left Chicago with a third person and he inwardly winced as he turned to face Jack. He was met with a knowing look from The Cowboy and a cocked eyebrow.

Ignoring him, Race extracted himself from Clara all the while trying not to wake her. Unfortunately, it was a fruitless effort because as soon as he was in a sitting position, she jerked awake. She looked between the boys with a sleepy bleariness that had to be the most adorable thing he'd ever seen. "Morning." She said, yawning.

"Good morning." Race and Jack replied simultaneously.

An awkward silence descended and Race turned to look out the window and was surprised to see they were slowing down, Pittsburgh looming in front. That meant that by nightfall they'd be arriving in New York. He felt a wave of homesickness that was quickly overridden by sadness. The feeling stumped him for just a second and in that second he felt his gaze slip to the girl beside him; just like that, he knew why.

Jack stood and moved to leave the compartment, saying "Just gonna get a bite to eat." Race nodded mutely as Clara asked him to bring them both a muffin, informing Race that he needed to eat _something_.

The shutting of the compartment door echoed in the silence and he gave Clara a crooked smile, "So, didja sleep well?" Stupid question, he thought, because she had, after all, been sleeping in a sitting position with his big head on her lap all night.

Clara smiled, though, and replied, "Better than you would think. Although, I am looking forward to being in my bed once again. When do you think we'll arrive?"

"I'd say ten hours. So, seven thirty, eight o' clock."

The silence that fell around them was less awkward and more charged. He was distinctly aware of her beside him, less than four inches away, lovely, soft and feminine. Delicate looking on the outside, with a core of steel on the inside; Race had never wanted anyone more than he wanted her. Sadly, she was the last dame on earth that would ever want him. He almost wished he'd gone with Jack to the dining car.

"Race?"

"Clara."

She bit her bottom lip for a second before she asked, "What's your real name?"

He smiled, "Anthony. I was named aftah my Uncle who died before I was born."

An odd look passed across her face and he wished he knew what she was thinking. Come to think of it, besides what her brother had told him every so often and what he'd seen the last few days, he didn't really know a whole lot about her, "What would you be doin' if ya weren't taggin' around with me ta Chicago?" He inquired.

Her face flushed, as if his question pleased her, and then she seemed to ponder his question, "Well, its Wednesday so…I'd wake up early, I always do, and eat breakfast. Perhaps go walking with Diana for an hour or so. Read for awhile, talk to mother. At noon I'd take lunch with the family, usually, and at one Diana and I would start her piano lessons. At two-thirty I'd meet Cheryl for our weekly meeting; she's the matron at St. Joseph's." He gave her a questioning look and she supplied, "St. Joseph's is the orphanage I sponsor."

"You sponsor an orphanage?" He shouldn't have been shocked, but Scott had never mentioned this.

Clara smiled slightly, "Once, during the time I was being courted by Henry, we came across a small girl in an alley not too far from my house. At the time, he convinced me to ignore her." A pucker formed between her eyebrows as she admitted this, "I don't remember how he did, though. Anyway, after he dropped me off at home I couldn't stop thinking about her. Alone, cold, and scared…I couldn't take it. I went back for her. She was still there and I asked her where her family was. She said she didn't have a family, that her papa had hurt her mama until she didn't move anymore and then he made a loud bang…"

Race felt sick just hearing the story, how the little girl viewed the world and the death of her parents. He could see his feelings mirrored on Clara's face as she swallowed before continuing her story, "I brought her home. Cleaned her up, fed her and let her sleep in my bed. I was almost hell bent on keeping her but my parents talked me out of it. Telling me I couldn't keep her like a pet and that I couldn't take in every orphan on the street. So, I looked for a place that could take in the orphans. I researched all of them, looking for one that had a good name but not a lot of money; my research led me to St. Joseph's in Brooklyn.

"I made friends with Cheryl, the matron, and she took in the little girl, her name was Rebecca and she's still there." She gave a rueful smile, "She's eight now. Of all the girls, she's my favorite. I think she's a reminder to me, every day that I could have left her there in that smelly alley. I could have married Henry and raised snotty brats with him and hated myself for the rest of my life for turning my back on a child that needed me."

Slowly, he slid his hand across the seat and took her hand in his own. Her fingers were long and graceful, a pianist's fingers. Gentle hands that, no matter how pampered, had been unable to see someone suffer. Admiration rose in his chest and it was crystal clear to him that he loved every bit of her.

He didn't think twice about his next actions, tugging her hand to pull her close to him so that he could press his lips to hers. She tilted her head, allowing him to deepen it. It was so completely different from the drunken kiss and the kiss that followed the fight. This one was softer but with an intensity under the surface of it that could send shockwaves through them. His hands wrapped around her waist, unable to stand any space between their bodies as he tenderly pulled her closer.

It was a kiss that reached down to the foundation of his soul, seeming to knock his entire world off its axis. During that kiss, their lips met, broke apart, and met again eagerly living in the seconds that they were connected. In those moments he was no longer Racetrack Higgins but rather a person that solely lived and breathed for this one beautiful woman.

Suddenly, Clara pulled away. He felt the loss at once, like being hit by a carriage, as she pulled back. He caught the frightened look in her eyes a split second before it was hidden by another look. This one was less easy to identify; not quite anger, but not the desire he was sure was in his own.

"What is it, Race?" She whispered, her green eyes dropping away. As if she were embarrassed she was asking this question.

He felt himself pull back from her, though he was unsure of what she was asking, "What is what?"

Her jaw clenched as she avoided his gaze. For a long time he thought she wasn't going to answer but then she bit out, "What is it you _want_? Is it the money? Is it…the intimacy between a man and a woman? You won't get either." She finally turned her green eyes on him and they had darkened, "I will _not_ be duped again. I don't want your games, the seduction. I won't let you use me and toss me aside."

The high from the kiss was gone with that first question. That she would even believe that he would use her, that he only wanted her fucking _money_, it sickened him in a way that he'd never been before. Anger coursing through him, he stood and glared down at her. "I want nothing from you. _Nothing._"

Before she could argue, he strode out of the compartment, barely acknowledging Jack as he shoved by him. He needed a game of cards, a cigar, and a bottle of gin.

**A/N: This would have been up Saturday, but I got sidetracked writing the Epilogue. That's right, the last chapter of this story is finished. And it will KILL you all. Not literally, of course. But, well, you'll see! I'm estimating...three more chapters and then the epilogue. Give or take a chapter. And then I'm going to start on the next story which will be Mush's! **

**Please review! **

**Truly,**

**Joker is Poker with a J~**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize. Everything you DO recognize belong to their respective owners. **


	17. Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Sixteen

_The strong point in poker is never to lose your temper, either with those you are playing with or, more particularly, with the cards. There is no sympathy in poker. Always keep cool. If you lose your head you will lose all your chips. (William J. Florence)_

Except, she knew he wanted _something_. She was just scared of the truth. What he wanted…Clara wasn't entirely sure she could give it to him. Because, it was different when it came to family; the love there was unconditional, you accepted the people around you because come hell or high water you knew, just _knew_, that they'd be there for you. If you didn't have that, then it wasn't a family.

But with Race…that was entirely different matter and one she didn't want to even understand right now. She felt anger, guilt, and sadness. They'd barely been awake an hour and already they were at each other's throat. And that kiss…

"Race!" Jack's voice brought her away from her thoughts and she realized he hadn't shut the door when he stormed off. Slowly, she stood and peered out of the compartment to see Jack grab Race's arm and spin him around.

She ducked back inside so the Italian wouldn't see her and strained to hear what was being said.

Race cursed, "Not right now, Jack. There's a bottle a gin with my name on it."

"Race, it's eight in the morning. What the hell happened?" Jack's voice was controlled, soothing, almost like a parent would speak to their child.

Clara heard Race let out an angry exhale before he spoke, "_She's_ what happened, Jack. Been drivin' me crazy every damned second of this trip. First, she's holding a knife to my throat and the next thing I know, she's kissing me back! Not too long latah she's back to insulting me! I can't take it. I'm done trying to understand women! They're all crazy!" Clara peeked around the corner in time to see him throw his arms up in frustration.

Jack laughed as Race finished his tirade and she once more ducked back inside the compartment as he replied, "Oh, man. Ya got it bad."

It was silent for a stretch and Clara's stomach dropped as she waited for Race's reply. Finally, after the bang of a door closing down the hall, she heard him sigh and say, "Tell me about it."

"If it makes ya feel bettah, the woman I loved turned me down, too. Then I left. The thing about women, Race, is that they want ya ta fight for them." Jack's words of wisdom echoed in Clara's ears and while she wanted to believe that Race might have feelings for her, she still wasn't sure of her own. Things in life were so tenuous and short-lived and if that described his feelings, she'd rather save herself the pain now.

She peeked out to see the two leaning against the windows, gazing out at the landscape. Chicago, Pittsburgh, Santa Fe…they were all falling ever farther away from them. At long last, Jack nudged Race with his shoulder, "Go on. Apologize for whatevah ya did. Women like apologies."

Clara squeaked as Race nodded and patted Jack on the back. Hurriedly, she took a seat by the window and pretended she hadn't been eavesdropping while trying to figure out how she was going to handle the coming situation. She straightened her spine and then was startled by the clearing of his throat.

Her heart sped up as he stood there in the doorway, looking rather adorable as he put his hands in the pockets of his coat and met her gaze. "Look…I-I'm sorry."

He looked like he was about to continue so she put up her hand to stop him, "Apology accepted. Now, I think…I think it would be best if we stopped…" She paused, trying to think of the word before she waved her hand in frustration, "whatever this is a-and just be friends."

A thousand emotions ran across his face in the matter of a millisecond and she didn't have time to identify a one of them before he donned a rather blasé expression, "Alright. Good ta know." His voice was decidedly strained, but other than that small tidbit she wasn't sure if this was how he had wanted the conversation to go.

Nodding her head, she sighed and glanced out the window, "So, what to do now…" Of all the uncomfortable moments in their acquaintance, this was without a doubt the worse.

"I ate already, but why don't we go back to the dining car?" Jack's sudden appearance seemed to ease the tension and they jumped on the idea simultaneously.

As they left the compartment, she didn't miss Jack's pat on Race's shoulders and just like that she felt a pang of regret. In the decision to protect her heart, had she made a terrible mistake?

* * *

><p>The whistle blew to signal that they'd arrived in New York City and Clara sighed in relief. If it hadn't been for Jack, the rest of the trip would have been spent in a strained silence at best. Luckily, he'd suggested spending the day in the dining car which was almost constantly crowded with people. It had broken the tension and had set them at ease. Not to mention, Jack was very good at keeping the conversation going while sidestepping the harder subjects.<p>

Once they got off the train, they headed out of the station into the dark city that was her home. She took a deep breath of the river air, feeling happy to finally be back home. "Are you guys going back to your place?" She asked as they stood out on the sidewalk, taking in the sounds of the city that echoed off the buildings.

Race shook his head, "Nah, we're gonna make shoah ya get home." His eyes went up and down the street suspiciously.

She almost reassured him about Carlos, but caught herself just in time. "Alright. How about we walk? I could really stretch my legs after the long journey."

They both shrugged, "Fine with me. It's great just to be back." Jack stared around in awe, taking in the city that he'd given up all those years ago.

Clara wanted to ask him if he was going to go find her as soon as he was settled, but since he hadn't told her anything about his situation she felt it would be wrong to reveal she'd read his letter. She sighed as their small group lapsed into a comfortable silence as they headed towards Gramercy Park.

When they finally arrived, Jack and Race stopped at the front walk. "Tell Scott I'll visit him sometime tomarrah." Race finally said, handing her suitcase over. Giving him a small smile, she thanked him and promised to pass on the news.

She walked up the steps and put her hand on the door knob as a sudden wave of sadness overwhelmed her. Tomorrow, she might not see Racetrack Higgins. It might be a longtime before she saw him at all. That thought alone had her glancing back and she felt her heart stutter as she saw him still standing there, watching with those brown eyes that were always warm when they gazed at her.

Turning the knob, she opened the door to the brightness of the front entryway and slowly shut it behind her before leaning heavily against it. It felt nice to be home but all of a sudden there was a yawning emptiness inside her. Again, she was re-thinking her decision of protecting her heart in favor of disappointment, grief and loneliness. Was it always smart to listen to the logical half of your brain or was this the one time your heart was right? What if she ha-

A shrill screech interrupted her thoughts and she jerked her head up to see her mother at the top of the staircase. "Clara! Oh, darling we thought the worse! We were _so_ worried! But, Scott promised us you were in safe hands and now all we have to do is wait for him and your father to find what they're asking for her. It's been _such_ a horrible day." Miranda Renwick was not the type to lose control in situations except where it concerned her children so her diatribe was sufficient to cause Clara's stomach to drop with dread.

At the same time, she felt a red flush of shame creep up her neck as Katherine came out of the kitchen. Her eyes widened and she lifted her hands in a gesture that said the situation had been taken out of her control.

"Mother, I'm sorry." Clara finally spoke, stepping into the foyer to hug her mother.

Her mother squeezed her tight, "Your father and I were ready to strangle you at first but we've calmed down. All that matters…all that matters is that you're _safe_." She pulled back and wiped her eyes, which were bloodshot from crying, "But, now that you're home you need to be told…"

The lump of dread ate away at her as she asked, "Mother, what did you mean when you said Scott and daddy were…" She gulped, unable to repeat the sentence.

"Darling, that _awful_, _horrid_ man your brother owes money to _k-kidnapped_ D-Diana." And then her mother burst into more tears.

**A/N: Because I didn''t get around to replying all of my reviewers, here's this chapter fast! Thank you so much to all who reviewed! To clear up what I said last chapter, the Epilogue will 'good kill you'. Anywho, tell me what your thoughts are in a wonderful review? **

**Truly,**

**Joker is Poker with a J~**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize. Everything you DO recognize belong to their respective owners. **


	18. Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Seventeen

_"The only thing sure about luck, is that it will change." -Bret Harte  
><em>

It was good to be home. Race stopped right in the doorway of his small apartment as Jack stood in the middle of the tiny kitchen and looked around. It wasn't luxurious, like the Benjamin, and he could definitely afford to move to a nicer building come summer, but this place…it was his first ever place on his own. It was home.

Unfortunately, where it had always been just right the time before four days ago, now it was missing a quintessential piece that he refused to let his heart focus on. She had made it perfectly clear how she wanted things.

Sighing, he closed the door behind him and walked over to the separate bedroom to drop his bag on his bed. "Well, whatya think, Cowboy?" He called out to Jack, who had been rather brooding since they'd left Clara on her doorstep. An image quickly seared through his brain; her standing at her door, her body poised to go in and at the last second turning her head to the right to look back. Wasn't that a good sign, when a girl looked back? Didn't that mean something?

He wouldn't let false hope blossom, he told himself.

"Yeah, nice place ya got here, Race." Jack said from the doorway, peering around his room.

Racetrack found a small smile pull up his lips, "So, what are ya plans tamarrah?"

Jack shifted uncomfortably, "I don't know. Maybe go see the Lodging House…stay as far from David as I can."

They both chuckled at the joke, "Probably wouldn't be a good idea ta waltz in there and ask for a job…" Race added and they both laughed a little bit more at the image.

It grew quiet between them and Race yawned, "I think I'm goin' hit the sack. Lemme get you a pillow and extra blanket." Jack nodded and moved out to the sparsely furnished apartment as Race pulled out the spare pillow and blanket that Mush had used when he had stayed there.

Jack took the proffered items and then gave Race a scrutinizing look, "What are you planning on doin' tamarrah?"

Race had filled him in on the situation with Scott and Carlos on their way back from Clara's; even admitting about the truth with Snipes. It was the least he could do after Jack had told him his entire tale. The Cowboy hadn't said much, something Race had been thankful for, and had accepted the story silently. Now, he seemed to instinctively know that Racetrack was planning something.

And he was right. Racetrack replied to his question as noncommittally as he could; by shrugging. He was unable to put into words exactly what he was going to do. All he knew was that he needed to fix things for Scott because he had already told him he had. Now, because of a past mistake, Barkers could hurt that family in a way that they may never be able to get over. Race didn't think he could sleep at night if anything bad happened to them.

He would _not_ admit that he was worried about Clara far more than anyone else.

As he crawled into bed, he was left with a rather bitter thought that carried him to sleep; it was ironic that the girl he wanted to be with was the one who didn't want him.

* * *

><p>At some point during the night, a knot of tension found its way into his stomach and when he woke in the morning it was enough to clear him of any appetite he might have had. Sitting at the table, he watched Jack eat his toast and eggs as if he'd never eat again, until he was startled by three knocks at the door.<p>

They shared a raised eyebrow before Race stood and crossed the apartment to open the door.

Two pairs of emerald green eyes stared at in an unsettling manner as he took in the sight of them. "Scott? Clara?" He asked, confused and alarmed.

Scott sighed and pushed Clara into the room as Race stepped aside and then he went around her to shake Race's hand, "We have a situation and we didn't know who else to go to." Scott told him, for once seeming to be the more sensible of the two.

The knot in his stomach had loosened at the sight of them, glad to see they were whole and unharmed but now it tightened once more as he took in Clara's pale face. He felt a protectiveness he didn't know he was capable of take hold of him and if her brother hadn't been there, he'd have pulled her into his arms…

Friends did that sort of thing…

Race shook his head of those thoughts, telling himself that she didn't want him to hold her as he gestured for them to take a seat at the table with Jack.

Scott sat down and Race pulled a chair out for Clara before sitting across from his best friend. "Oh, Scott this is Jack Kelly. Jack this is Scott Renwick."

"Hey, hoid a lot about ya." Jack said, shaking hands with the red-haired man, while still managing to shovel food into his mouth.

"Hello." Scott replied, taking in the scar on Jack's face without batting a lash. Race often marveled at his ability to take people as they came, no matter the package or the contents inside. Scott was a man with ideals that were far ahead of the rest of them at times.

Getting back to the subject at hand, Race studied Scott, "What happened?" Because it was obvious something _had_ happened.

Before Scott could speak, Clara did, "Barkers kidnapped Diana and he's holding her for ransom." Her voice shook ever so slightly in a way that he assumed she was trying to hold herself together. That was, until she lifted her gaze to meet his and those green eyes blazed with anger, "Race, he _took _my little sister. We have to _do_ something."

He nodded but didn't speak for a moment as he thought through what Barkers had done. A rather tenuous plan began to form in the back of his head for a moment but it was so unstable with so many possible outcomes-like a game of poker. He was good at poker, though; this plan might work in his favor. If it didn't…

"Ren, tell me about that night. How many hands did you win? How much did you lose and what hands did you cheat at?" He asked, ignoring Clara who looked taken aback to being overlooked.

Scott looked surprised before thoughtful, "Well, I got there around two. I had spent the majority of the night at Vincent Smith's place before that having a good natured game with friends. I got bored, though, and figured I'd head to the Bronx for a more daring game. Perhaps try the slip cut you taught me a few weeks ago." He gave a quick, rather sheepish grin directed at his sister before continuing, "When I got there they were in the middle of a heated game. Barker's was winning. I'm pretty sure he was cheating as well but I have no proof of that. Anyway, I sat down for the next game and at first I played honestly and I was just getting dealt good hands. A streak of luck where I won a fair amount of money.

"But, then the luck was gone and I had to keep folding. By the eleventh deal, I was in the hole. I began to cheat a little. Slowly, I began to win back some money but it wasn't a whole lot. Finally, I did the slip cut and what did you know? That's when I won the big pot of money. I was so excited; you're right Race it's a wonderful trick to use." Race rolled his eyes at Scott's enthusiasm to swindle away others' money; although there was a time he'd have done it no matter who he was playing against. "Of course, that's when I think Barkers' caught on. I stopped right after that one and played a few more hands where I folded or lost a little bit of money. Once I still had three quarters of the money I'd won, I got out of there."

Race thought over the story, wondering if that could be a plan B. He wouldn't know until he tried. Sighing, he stood, "Well, I guess I should go deal with him. You guys stay here, don't leave." He shook his finger at the siblings before going to grab his jacket.

"Race?" Clara had stood and followed him, "I…I have to tell you something." His heart leapt for a moment before she said, "About Carlos. We, uh, ran into each other on the train and…well, he wanted to help you get out of this business with Barkers'. Said if I gave him the money to pay off Scott's debt, he'd pass it to Barkers' and you wouldn't need a reason to go there. Maybe…maybe he's already given the money in? What if Diana's already at home?"

Stunned, Racetrack stared at her a moment before he found his voice, "Why didn't ya tell me ya ran inta that piece of scum?" The words flew out of his mouth as images of her being in the same room as Carlos flashed across his mind. Not only was Carlos cunning, he was downright ruthless. He'd been on the streets so long, surrounded by the worst sort of men-not to mention _working_ for them-that it was a wonder he had any humanity left.

Her eyes widened and shifted away, "Well, I was trying to help you…"

Running his hand through his hair in aggravation, he ground his teeth to keep from yelling at her. Taking a breath, he told her as evenly as he could, "Ya think someone like Carlos is goin' ta keep his word? Just gonna give all that money ovah ta someone else? No, Clara. He's going to take it and run. That's what sort a man he is. Now, I have ta go deal with Barkers' and you're out of money that could have been bettah spent on that Orphanage of yours."

Angry at her naiveté, he pulled on his jacket and headed to the door without another word to the petite woman. "Race, wait." Jack said, pulling on his own worn jacket, "I'm coming with ya."

Scott stood, "I should come, too."

Scowling, Race shook his head, "No. Ya staying here."

"But, it's my debt."

Slowly, Race shook his head, "No, Scott. It's not. It's something between me and Barkers'. You just got in the way."

Lucky for Race, Scott didn't share the annoying trait of stubbornness that seemed to be the very backbone of Clara's personality. He merely sulked back into his seat as Race turned to meet Clara's green eyes. Neither said a word and before she could, he turned away and shut the door behind him. He had a gang leader to deal with first. Love, or the lack thereof on her part, could wait.

"Ya ready ta bullshit ya way out of this situation?" Jack joked, pulling out a cigarette to calm his nerves as Race lit his cigar.

Shrugging, Race inhaled deeply before replying, "Well, it ain't gonna be as easy as that time I had ta tawk myself out of the money I owed Weasel. Can't believe I got him ta believe I'd already paid him…"

They both got a good chuckle out of that memory as they headed towards the bar that was ultimately the headquarters for Barkers' and his men. Of all the bars in the Bronx, it was the one he'd always warned Scott from going into and yet…the kid had still made the mistake. The same one he'd made a long time ago that caused Snipes death. He only hoped no one got hurt this time.

Why was it that when the corrupt gambled it was always the innocent who got hurt in the end?

Racetrack ground the butt of his cigar against the brick building, steeling himself for the coming confrontation and praying to whatever entity was out there that this deal went in his favor.

Squaring his shoulders, he pushed open the door and glanced around. At this time of morning there weren't a lot of customers but a few were scattered sporadically throughout the clouded, dingy bar. Walking confidently over to the bar, he took in the bartender and asked, "Barkers' here?"

"Ya got business with 'im?" The bartender asked, drying out the inside of a large, glass mug.

Race shrugged, not willing to impart with information, "Somethin' like that." In this world of thugs and thieves, information was like currency; passed from one ear to another with a price that could corrupt bakers as well as government officials.

The bartender merely grunted in answer, but nodded to the door to his right that had steps leading to the basement. Race patted the top counter before making his way down the stairs, Jack close on his heels. In seven years, things had not changed even a little bit with the exception of the added layer of dust. Of course, he had been here only five days before. He remembered every detail of _that _visit; especially the blatant look of surprised that had crossed Barkers' face.

As he stepped into the low ceilinged basement, it was his turn for the shock of surprise as he encountered Carlos, discussing a matter with Barkers. Both turned to stare at him when Jack and he appeared.

Carlos merely raised an eyebrow as Race moved to face Barkers. Barkers was watching Race through narrowed eyes, "Whatya want now, streetrat?" Barkers growled, reminding Race even more of a beast. It didn't help that he was a large, middle-aged man with out-of-control brown hair, black eyes and a beard to match the hair.

Race kept up his poker face, the face that had won him numerous games of every type of card game. "You owe me, Barkers. I've come ta collect."

Carlos' mouth quirked just the slightest bit as Barkers' face turned red with anger, "Did I hear ya correctly, Higgins? I owe you?"

The Italian man let himself relax just so, "Yeah. Ya see, I gave ya money that was supposin' ta pay off Renwick's debt but I'm aware ya had his family fallahed which can only mean that the money went to something else…I assumed my debt from some years ago…"

"That's right." Barkers snapped, "Ya point?"

"My point," Race began, slipping his hand into his pocket and waving his other around, "is that my debt was paid seven years ago, with blood."

Barkers' suddenly laughed, "Your blood!" He boomed, still laughing, "Your debt was paid with your blood, B'hoy. At least, that was what we was told befoah ya waltzed in here five days ago."

Scalding hot anger nearly blinded him as he realized that Barkers was saying that Snipeshooters death meant nothing to him. Before he could do what body was screaming to do, Carlos took a step forward, "Perhaps, Barkers, you should remember that I got Renwick's money from him…before you so rashly decided to kidnap an innocent girl. So, with all due respect, all debts are, to be blunt, paid in full."

That killed the humor in Barkers and he slouched in his seat and glared at them, "So, it seems." He looked off into the dark basement and snapped his fingers. A few minutes of tense silence later, Diana was brought from some unknown place and her hands were untied.

"Race!" She flung herself at him and he caught the girl with an 'oaf'.

"Get outta here before I change my mind." Barkers ordered, his black eyes trained on them until the four disappeared.

Race kept a protective arm around Diana the whole way although the thirteen-year-old was unharmed. Her face was red and blotchy from crying, but her blue eyes, so unlike her sisters in almost every way, he thought ruefully, stared up at him in worship, "You saved me, Race." She told him as they stepped out of the bar.

"Not quite, Di." He told her, his eyes looking over her brown hair to the stranger beside her, "Go wait over there with Jack, alright? He'll take care of you."

Diana nodded her head, trusting him as she walked with Jack a block or so down the road. When they were out of earshot, Race turned to meet the blue eyes of the man who had once been like a brother to him, "Ya…ya saved my ass down there."

Carlos gazed across the street, "Well…maybe." He grinned.

Clenching his teeth, Race forced himself to say, "Thank ya." Before he could stop himself, he asked, "Why'd ya do it?"

The Spaniard finally met his gaze, "Can't always think the worst of people, Race. Sometimes we are what the world forces us ta be." He chuckled, and took a step in the opposite direction, "Of course, I nevah liked when things were decided for me." With a genially wave, so unlike the man Race had heard talked about in hushed voices in seedy bars, Carlos went on down the street, easily disappearing in the throng of people.

Race watched him go, wondering why it was Carlos had always had his back even when he didn't know it.

**A/N: First thing, if you are confused about Carlos...YOU SHOULD BE! If you are unsure about anything else, please ask in your review? I tried my best to clarify everything. However, I refuse to answer any questions about Carlos. He WILL be in future stories (Maybe not Mush's, but he MAY have a subplot in Blink's)****. Moving on, I want inform you that there are only two chapters left. This might be one of the hardest stories to let go, but at least I'll have future stories that are in this universe!**

**Lastly, while I plan on getting the last two chapters out quickly (fingers crossed) I am not sure when I'll have the time to put up Mush's story. Maybe right away, maybe not till Mid-March or at the VERY latest May. I have a feeling this semester is going to kick my...butt. **

**Sorry for the long author's note! Please, please, please review! I want ALL of your reactions! **

**Truly,**

**Joker is Poker with a J~**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize. Everything you DO recognize belong to their respective owners. **


	19. Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Eighteen

_Life, like poker, has an element of risk. It shouldn't be avoided. It should be faced. - Edward Norton_

What was that quote her mother had always murmured to her before bed each night when she was a child? "We are all born for love. It is the principle of existence, and its only end." For years, she had naively believed in those words as if they had been written just for her. Her heart had been whole and open to love.

Clara watched Race shut the door behind him and when she was alone with Scott, she sat heavily in the closest chair. She knew, of course, what had happened to her. It wasn't even so much her experience with Henry that had caused her to be this way. It was that, combined with watching all her old friends marry unhappily for money; people who were now living life in luxury but too miserable to enjoy it.

With the exception of her parents, she had not once seen a happy marriage. Perhaps they didn't even exist outside her mother and father. That thought made her morose and she sighed, her heart falling down into her stomach.

"Did you fall in love with him?" Scott asked, so suddenly it startled her in the vast silence that hung around the apartment.

A denial rose to her lips at once before she swallowed it and slowly nodded her head. She couldn't even say it out loud, but she knew she had. It was just too scary a notion to process.

Scott was standing by the wooden counter, looking out of the window onto the street below, "I think…he's loved you since that first kiss."

Surprised, she stared at his back, "W-what?"

Her brother chuckled, "A year or so back, we were out drinking after he worked a double at the Hotel. Race for once drank more than me and he admitted to kissing you when you were engaged. He doesn't remember." He turned around and leaned against the counter, folding his arms and studying her, "I always suspected he liked you but he never said a thing. He's pretty close-mouthed when it comes to you."

She sat there in silence, unsure of what he was getting at or maybe just unwilling to accept what had always been in front of her. Racetrack had always been there for Scott, for her family, and even for her. Who had punched a man for insulting her? Who had always been honest with her and patient when she asked questions? He'd offered his name as protection for her reputation on the journey to Chicago, and had made sure she got home safe.

Racetrack had always treated her like something precious and sacred, had kissed her as if he was a dying man and she was the elixir of life. Never had she felt more beautiful, more wonderful than she had when she was with him.

"All I'm saying is you could do a lot worse than Race." Scott told her, raising an eyebrow as he watched her play through her feelings.

She met him head on, "I'm scared, Scott."

He nodded, "Of course you are. Race is probably scared, too. But, he's willing to take the risk. That's what love is. Sure, if you don't take the jump you won't get hurt. But you'll never know love, either."

Standing, she wandered from the kitchen into the tiny bedroom. A twin sized bed was squeezed into the corner with a table beside it and a mismatched, old dresser made up the sparse furnishings of the room. Lightly, she ran her hand across the top of the dresser, taking in the few items that sat atop it; razor for shaving, a brush, and a deck of cards. She let her hand trail along the wall as she turned to the bed and the nightstand. An oil lamp, matches, and a tin can were the only things on it, a few cigars in the can. Without thinking, she sat down on the bed and pulled the lone pillow into her lap, wrapping her arms around it and pressing her nose into it.

Inhaling the smell that was now incredibly familiar, the mix of cigar smoke, the sultry spice that was Race alone, with just a faint underlying scent of soap, she sighed and let her body fall onto the mattress. Slowly, she relaxed and tried to think of anything other than all the horrible ways the meeting with Barkers could go wrong. With the pillow clutched tightly in her arms, she let her exhausted mind fall into dreamland.

* * *

><p>Voices, a door being shut, and an exclamation roused her from a dream that slipped from her mind as she opened her eyes. She was greeted with bright sunlight that hurt her eyes for a split second before she tightly shut them and rolled onto her other side away from the sun, unwilling to get up just yet. It had to have been weeks since she'd slept this good, she thought and she was still slightly disoriented from sleep.<p>

Yawning, she snuggled the pillow and was about to resume her sleep when memories of recent events ran through her mind and quickly she sat up to find herself still in Race's room. Before she could fling herself out of the room, Race appeared in the doorway, a furrow between his brows as he took in the sight before him.

"Diana?" She croaked out, quickly putting the pillow back where it had been and standing. She smoothed her skirts, trying to hide her blush before looking up earnestly at him.

The confusion was replaced by a perfect poker face as he replied, "She's alright. Out there with ya brother right now; he's going to take her home."

"Oh, Race." The relief poured through her and she let her shoulders relax from their tense position.

"Clara!" Diana appeared behind Racetrack, sidling by him to get to her sister and they threw their arms around each other.

Clara smoothed the younger girl's raven hair, "Oh, Di. I'm so glad you're alright." She told her sister, squeezing her tightly before releasing her and taking a cursory glance to make sure she was intact, "You are alright, aren't you?"

Diana nodded eagerly, "Yes, Clara. But, you must tell Scott not to be terribly guilty. It was terrifying, I must say, but I think in a few days it will be quite the adventure to tell!"

A burst of surprised laughter escaped Clara and she hugged her sister once more, "Trust you to take a horrifying experience and turning it into some kind of, romantic tale."

Blue eyes sparkling, Diana replied, "Well, I _was_ saved by a handsome knight."

Remembering her sister's crush on Racetrack, she sent Race a raised eyebrow over her sister's head. He shrugged, "I kept tellin' her it wasn't me who saved her." He told her in defense.

Diana regarded the two almost indignantly, "Oh, _not_ Race. His friend, Carlos. Race and Jack were talking about how he gave Barkers the money to release me even before Race showed up there."

"Why don't ya go out ta Scott and Jack while I have a word with Clara?" Race asked quickly, stepping into the room and ushering Diana out. Once the younger girl was out of ear shot, he turned back to her and Clara raised an eyebrow.

She crossed her arms and tapped a finger to her cheek, "What is it you told me? 'He's going to take it and run'? 'That's the sort of man he is'?"

Crossing his own arms, he shrugged, "So, maybe ya weren't wrong about him."

Dropping her arms, she took a step closer to him, "Which means…?"

Letting out a frustrated exhale, he ran a hand through his hair and replied, grudgingly, "You were right. He gave Barkers the money and Barkers released her."

Clara hid a smile before she tilted her head, "Just like that?"

Slipping his hands into his pockets, he nodded, "Just like that."

Nibbling on her lip, she slowly shook her head, "After all that? The kidnapping, the threats, stalkers…he just let her go? It's almost…redundant."

Unwittingly, he reached out and brushed a stray lock of hair from her face before replying, "Even criminals have their own codes, sweetheart. If a debt's paid, there ain't much he can do ta keep her. He could have held her foah ransom but then the bulls could get involved and that's da last thing a man like Barkers' wants. So, no matter how grudgingly, he gave her up. Although, I suspect he won't be interested in seeing me anytime soon." He gave a lopsided grin.

"I hope he won't have a reason to." She told him, awareness of how close they were, how little space the room afforded, not to mention the bed behind her creeping in and setting her nerves aflame.

Abruptly, he changed the subject, "What were ya doin' in here?" His voice was softer, as if the intimate moment could break if they spoke louder than a whisper.

A blush rose in her cheeks, but she couldn't look away from those sincere, brown eyes, "J-just taking a small nap." She responded.

His hand rose and she was sure he was going to cup her cheek, _anything_ before he suddenly dropped it back to his side, clenching it into a fist, "Well, ya best get going. Scott wants ta take Diana home to ya parents."

He moved to leave but before he got far, she reached out and touched his forearm, "Race, wait."

Turning back, he met her gaze expectantly. Swallowing, she tried to voice what she wanted to say but she didn't know how. What if he told her he wanted nothing to do with her? What if he scorned her or laughed at her?

_Enough_, a little voice whispered in the back of her mind, _you'll regret it if you say nothing at all_. Parting her lips, she braced herself before whispering, "I don't want to be friends." Dumbfounded, he stared at her as if he was absorbing what she had said. Realizing it wasn't enough, that he'd get the wrong idea, she quickly continued, "That is, I want to be…_more_."

Earnestly, he took her hands in his own, "Ya serious about this, Clara? Because if ya are, I won't let ya regret it. I'll court the hell out of ya."

A small laugh bubbled up, "Please do." Relief poured through her and a giddy happiness as they gazed at one another. How could she ever doubt him? She had taken that leap of faith and he had caught her effortlessly. No, there weren't any guarantees for the future-but then there never were.

This time he did bring his hand up to cup her cheek like she had yearned for him to do earlier. Gently, she leaned her cheek into his warm palm which was calloused from his years as a newsie but was nonetheless wonderful. "Ya positive?" He asked, again. As if he couldn't believe it.

Clara smiled, "Yes, Race. I'm all in."

Laughing, he pressed his forehead to hers, "Pokah terms? Why, sweetheart, you're a made hand."

Before she could laugh at his ridiculous joke, he pulled her into his arms for a searing kiss that made her forget everything else.

**A/N: As in most of my stories you guys get my ridiculously cheesey endings that I just LOVE. Of course, we'll see Clara and Race in coming stories as minor characters so be excited for that! Oh, and if you go under my profile to 'To Look Forward To' I have a summary up for Mush's story! Yay! You all should review the HELL outta this chapter to demand the epilogue up ASAP. I'm going to do a cursory edit of it and mayhaps if you guys pressure me to, it'll be up in just a few days! Please review!**

**Truly,**

**Joker is Poker with a J~**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize. Everything you DO recognize belong to their respective owners. **


	20. Epilogue

Epilogue

_"Look for the dream that keeps coming back. It is your destiny."_

_- Unknown_

Jack nervously turned his hat in his hands as he stood in front of the building. Mentally, he berated himself; hadn't he, Jack Kelly, faced the most powerful man in the city, perhaps the world, just seven years ago? Why, then, couldn't he face this one person?

He pulled out the scrap of paper with the address, remembering the look Clara had given him before handing it to him. Silent support and respect, she trusted him to do the right thing and damn it, he would. Despite the fact that this was the most terrifying thing he'd ever encountered. Taking a deep breath, he started up the steps as he remembered the advice Crutchy had given him.

A small smile pulled up the corner of his mouth as his oldest friend came to mind. Large brown eyes and that goofy grin he always wore were instantly at the forefront of his mind. How odd it was that while everything around him had changed, Crutchy was the one constant. The crippled boy had grown up in every way, with the exception of his twisted foot that had always given him trouble but despite his physical changes he had stayed on at the Lodging House, unable to find a job that would hire him with his disability.

Kloppman, however, did not see him as a handicap and had given Crutchy the job of the front desk bookkeeper while he kept up the rooms. Of course, he was getting on in years but Jack was positive that he'd make sure Crutchy had a secure job if anything ever changed.

It was Crutchy, of all people, who Jack had always kept contact with. No matter how far he went or how many times he moved around, he always wrote to tell him where he was. It was also Crutchy who had forwarded the letter Sophie had sent to Race and it was Crutchy who had, quite by accident, been the catalyst to the ending of David and Jack's friendship.

Jack would never blame Crutchy. He was old enough to take responsibilities for the actions he'd taken as a young man. That was the whole reason he was here now; to right the wrongs of his past. He couldn't make things better with her; luckily there was someone he could make things better with.

"She's shy, Jack. Take ya time, these last few months have been hard on her, ya know?" Crutchy had told him, his smile sympathetic as he added, rather sheepishly, "I'd have kept her here. Da least I could do, but they frowned on having girls in the boy's lodging house."

"I undahstand, Crutchy. Thanks, though I'm a little mad ya nevah mentioned this ta me in ya lettahs." He'd told him, securing his hat on his head as he watched a few young boys run up the stairs. It was strange to be back at the Lodging House after so many years.

Crutchy had shrugged, "She asked me not ta. Ya nevah betray ya family, Jack."

Jack couldn't remember the last time he'd been around a family; perhaps it was seven years ago with the Jacobs'. Perhaps Sophie and her father were considered a family, although they had argued more than anyone Jack had ever known. "Well, I guess I'll find out?" He had replied, his stomach tightening with fear. What if she didn't want him?

"I wish I could go with ya." Crutchy had said, apologetically, "But, Kloppman let me off yestahday because my foot ached. I can't take anothah day off."

Jack had nodded, patted him on the shoulder before heading towards the doors, "Wish me luck."

He'd stopped by the Renwick's to get the address and now here he was. Unable to bring himself to take a step inside and meet his future-what he hoped was his future. It was time to take matters into his hands and give her what she needed. What she deserved.

Squaring his shoulders, he opened the door and crossed the foyer to the desk that stood off to the side. The place was neatly kept and eerily quiet for the time of day.

"Hello." A tall, middle aged, blonde woman at the counter greeted, her gaze fast taking in his clean pants, pressed shirt and jacket. Clara had insisted he needed to dress nice if he was going to get the girl. Scott had allowed her to pick from his clothes because, fortunately, they were similarly built.

"Uh, hi. I'm Jack Kelly? I'm here to see-"

Her eyes widened as she abruptly cut him off, "Mr. Kelly! It's wonderful to see you. I hadn't realized…you're here sooner than I expected. Hang on one moment. I'll go get her."

She moved around the counter and hurried up the stairs. Jack watched her apprehensively, hoping that was a good sign. He was beginning to wish he had accepted Clara's many offerings to come along. But, no, this was something he had to do on his own.

It took longer than he thought it would but eventually they appeared at the top of the staircase. For a moment, he was stunned by her. His gaze was on her and her alone, the woman from the counter might as well have been nonexistent.

Immediately, his thoughts were taken back to the spring of nineteen hundred. For quite a few months his relationship with Sarah had been, at best, stale and although neither of them had broached the subject it was obvious he wasn't the only one who thought so. Their fire, seemingly so hot and brilliant at the time of the strike, was suddenly a candle who's wax was melted down, the wick sputtering out and just barely holding on.

With the disillusionment heavy in his heart that something's are not meant to last, Jack purchased a train ticket with the money he'd saved up back when he thought he might marry Sarah. The train ticket was tucked into his pocket and the back of his mind as he continued to sell papers every day, putting off the inevitable with the smallest of excuses.

Until one evening when things had taken a radical shift from the ordinary. He'd met up with Crutchy at Tibby's and together they pooled their money and bought a meal to share. Afterwards, they sat there and talked about the headlines, the boys, and other inane subjects. It was just as the sun was hanging low in the sky that she walked in.

She had paused in the doorway, her blue eyes doing a quick scan of the restaurant before locking onto them. Jack had seen her first from his seat in the booth, facing the door as Crutchy sat across from him, his back to the girl who'd just blown Jack out of the water.

With a confidence that was not prevalent in most girls she walked towards them. Jack was positive she only had eyes for him, would have staked his life on it in the second before they moved from his to Crutchy and her gaze softened in a way that made his entire body hum with suppressed jealousy.

"Crutchy." She had greeted, stopping directly beside their booth and smiling brilliantly at the boy.

The surprise was plain on Crutchy's face, "How'd ya know I was here?"

She laughed, her eyes sparkling and her hair a shining halo of dark blonde in the light of the setting sun as Jack fell in love with this stranger, "The boys at the Lodgin' House said I might find ya here." Her Irish accent was soft, lilting as she addressed Crutchy and ignored Jack.

Crutchy sighed, "Well, ya found me. Is anythin' wrong?"

She shook her head, "Nah, ma wanted me ta check on ya. Says ya've been too busy ta see ya ol' aunt and cousin."

"Lillian, this is my friend Jack. Jack, this is my cousin Lily." Crutchy introduced and finally, Lily turned those blue eyes back on him.

He smiled, "Nice ta meetcha."

Lillian answered with a smile of her own before she turned back to her cousin, "Ya best visit tomorrah, she'll be wantin' ta see ya. No excuses and I mean it!" She wagged her finger at him before she leaned over to hug him, "Need ta be goin'. Not righ' for a girl ta be out past dark."

A worried look had passed over Crutchy's face and Jack saw his opportunity, "How about I walk her home? Just ta be safe?" Jack suggested his eyes on his friend.

The relief was palpable as he nodded, "Don't worry, Lily. Jack's a good guy. He'll get ya home."

Jack wondered even now how Crutchy could forgive him for what he'd done. How he could possibly still consider him a friend after all the dust had settled. Perhaps he always knew that Jack would come back and do the right thing one day.

Once they left the restaurant, it wasn't hard for Jack to seduce the beautiful Lily. Often times he found himself outside the apartment where she lived with her mother and it was only a couple weeks after their meeting that she let him in. The relationship was so sudden, coming upon him like a speeding train, that he didn't even think about the impact his actions would have; on Sarah or on David. Jack had taken what he wanted without thought and when it got back to David, which it inevitably did because Jack had been too love-struck to keep it a secret and most of the newsies were incurable gossips, he wasn't prepared for the encounter.

He was walking towards his selling spot, smiling at the memory of that very morning when Lily was lying beside him, tucked against his side as the early morning light streamed through the window of her tiny bedroom. Her mother had no idea he'd stayed the night, much less that Lily was serious about him. They had been whispering to each other, kissing and laughing as they laid there blissfully unaware how short their time together would be.

"I love lookin' inta your eyes." She had murmured to him, her blue eyes gazing into his brown ones. "Such a pretty hazel…" Leaning in, she kissed each of his eyelids.

When she pulled back, her face serious, he found himself reaching out and tickling her side. Just like he knew she would, she screamed with laughter and had struggled to get away from the endless tickling. After a minute, the tickling turned to stroking and kissing which in turn led to the predictable outcome. Later, he'd kissed her goodbye and headed to the Distribution center.

It had been a few days since he'd seen David, who had been too busy to come by as he finished up his schooling and worked part of the week at a hotel. His life was moving much faster than Jack's and sometimes he felt like his friend was leaving him behind.

But, when Jack arrived at his spot, he was surprised to see David there with a thunderous look in his eyes. Without a word, The Walking Mouth had thrown a punch at the Cowboy. They had ended up being pulled apart by a couple of men from the bakery they had been fighting in front of and sent away. David had stalked angrily away and Jack didn't follow; he knew the reason behind the sudden scuffle.

It was as if at that moment he heard a loud train whistle, reminding him of the ticket he'd kept on him these last few weeks. He ran back to the Lodging House and counted out the money he'd saved. Tucking it all into his pocket, he left a note to Crutchy and headed back to the building he'd been at just that morning.

"Come with me to Santa Fe." He'd asked the question as soon as she opened the door.

She stared at him in surprise for a moment, and then let him in silently. Jack stood there anxiously waiting for her answer.

It was the answer he didn't want to hear. Jack Kelly had been rejected. Rejected by the woman he had just fought about with his best friend. Like that, his life in New York seemed far away. Gone was the strike, the years of being a newsie, and the few, brief weeks with Lily. He was on the next train west within mere hours of the fight and he didn't let himself think about anything until the city had fallen far behind him, along with the heart she'd broken.

"Mr. Kelly?" The woman's voice brought him out of his bittersweet memories and his eyes met the girl he'd been waiting to see since he'd gotten the letter in Chicago.

Slowly, he got down on one knee and he gazed into eyes he knew very well. The eyes alone would have told him who she belonged to, "Hello, Hazel." For a moment, he nearly choked on the words, almost unable to believe this was happening to him as he met his little girl for the first time, "I'm ya...ya father."

**A/N: There you have it. Jack's entire story. Please review?**

**Truly,**

**Joker is Poker with a J~**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize. Everything you DO recognize belong to their respective owners. **


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